#every time I see screen caps where his wrinkles and laugh lines are gone I go ‘who is that???’

[pearlsdiamondsandvodka]

everyone who romances astarion without his wrinkles and laugh lines you are WEAK and you are getting BLOCKED

[elizabeth-234]

Iron Dad Bingo

Previous Chapter: Tony Finds a Job

Hello! Here is the next chapter of our Coffee Shop AU! :) Hope you enjoy.

One in which Peter decides to adopt Tony.

The Split Bean -

Chapter Two: Tony Finds the Kid

The cover he built up wasn’t blown yet.

It was surprising, and he was slightly worried about the people’s judgment, how much a collared uniform, apron, and no glasses concealed his identity better than his typical Starkfit as Rhodey called it. His preferred form of going incognito was a baseball cap and sunglasses but they didn’t work nearly as well as his Split Bean visage. The pin Doug gave him with his name engraved in the metal completed the barista outfit.

His shifts at the Bean became a necessary part of his schedule. The hours gave him a direction, given it was small, but it was for him.

His regulars greeted him with a smile no matter how grueling their days were. Sally ordered a regular whipped chai latte to get through her nursing shifts and he pumped an extra shot into Qadan’s coffee on his drive home from work.

He was Anthony there as stated on his pin. A plain guy working to make a living. Doug and him reminisced about past lives. They commemorated Doug’s passed partner with a makeshift Irish coffee before his shift one night, talked about his distanced daughter, and discussed the vague details Tony was willing to part with.

It was with the encouragement from Doug that Tony went to his first meeting. The man had given Tony his own silver chip. His wrinkled hands trembling as he handed the coin to Tony with steeled eyes.

“You do this for that girl you’ve got back home.” He’d said. Doug closed his hands around Tony’s fingers. “Most important though is you do this for yourself. You’re a good kid, a hard-worker and you will be after this too.”

Meetings came and went. It was hard and Tony struggled but The Bean was there for him. Pepper was there for him.

He was doing it. For Pepper, for himself, and that’s all that mattered.

This particular evening began no different than any other in the past six months.

Tony got off the subway a stop early and walked the rest of the way to the shop trying to expend some excess energy before his shift. He stared at the lights and people as he walked down the sidewalk. His eyes lingered on the advertisements outside a liquor store on his way. Fingers clenched around the chip in his pocket but he continued to walk forward.

He would be late if he stopped now.

Keep walking.

At the café he donned an apron and settled behind the counter. He tapped his pocket feeling the outline of the disk and wiped down the counter. Doug made his way to the back after checking in on him.

Sally was the first guest of the night. She ordered a shot of expresso citing that her son kept her up the night before with a case of ‘exorcist-like vomit.’ A line of people followed and the café went into the quieter hours.

Tony was left to restock between cleaning and refilling drinks.

The doorbell chimed. Bent over a case of cups, Tony yelled a welcome and finished up his task.

“I’ll be with you shortly.” He said.

Job done, he smoothed down his apron and turned to the counter.

He racked his brain and didn’t remember ever seeing the boy in front of him before. Large doe eyes peered at him from a face painted with freckles exacerbated under the lights of the shop. His hands fidgeted with the ends of his sleeves as he mumbled something Tony didn’t catch. Those impossibly wide eyes darted from the menu back to Tony.

“What can I get you?” He said.

“Can I please have just a black coffee. Small, please.”

Tony smirked and typed in the order on the tablet.

“And can I see some ID?” The boy’s face drained of color before his brows crunched together. “I’m kidding, kid. We don’t serve alcohol here and I doubt you’re old enough anyway.”

“Oh.” He responded and Tony saw him slide his ID back into his pocket. “Yeah, I’m not.”

He snorted.

“Will that be all?”


“Yes, thank you.”

He watched as the kid took out a small leather pouch and counted out the three dollars in quarters.

“Sorry.” He said under his breath as Tony plopped them into the register.

“You gave me an extra dollar.” Tony extended his arm forward but the kid made no move to take the money. He shuffled back and forth, and looked up at him from under the mop of curly hair on his head.

“You can keep it.” He turned his back on Tony.

“Hold on there, kid.” He said and the boy stopped, retracing his steps so Tony could see the bright flush on his cheeks. “I’m not allowed to take tips.” He held up his hands and waited.

“Really. It’s okay.”

His statement wasn’t strictly true. Tips were encouraged amongst all the baristas but he declined them and if the person was adamant, he would give them to another barista working at the time. Tony smiled and slid the money into his apron.

“I also didn’t get your name.”

Tony held up the cup for his order at the frown the kid made.

“Oh, uh, it’s Peter.”

“Thanks, Peter. Order coming up.”

The kid glanced as him nodding before walking to where the drinks were served.

Tony poured his black coffee and watched as he settled down in the very seat he sat in at the café. Peter grabbed a laptop covered in dents, one Tony was sure was popular when he was in grad school, out of his backpack.

Throughout the next rush Tony’s attention came back to the kid sitting in the corner seat. He nursed the original cup of coffee for all the money it was worth. His fingers never rested for more than a minute as he worked early into the morning.

The end of his shift neared and the café was nearly empty besides a few stragglers. The morning people, Tony shuddered, wouldn’t come until his replacement came in. He didn’t know if he would get along as well with the morning crowd.

He finished wiping crumbs and splotches of drinks off the counter and tossed the rag back into the bucket hidden behind the trash. Tony grabbed the pitched of black coffee. The kid’s eyes didn’t move from the screen he was engrossed in until after Tony poured him another cup. His hand came up to wave Tony off.

“But, I can’t…”

“On the house, kid” Tony said winking. He went back to wiping down the tables ignoring the tremble in his hand. The growing itch in the back of his neck.

At five a.m. the kid moved from his station. He closed his laptop tucking it away into a backpack with duct tape holding the straps together and stood up from the chair. Trash was thrown into the bin and Peter brought his cup to the counter to clear his table.

“Have a nice day.” Tony called as he spotted Peter leaving.

The kid stopped with his hand on the door and cocked his head enough so Tony could see a small smile on his face. He waved and was gone before Tony blinked.

Past six Doug came in bagels for everyone working and Tony grabbed one before he headed out.

He walked down the street, bagel in hand, yawning. The sun glinted beyond the buildings of the city and Tony thought about the kid bent over the laptop in the small café. How he insisted on tipping Tony when his backpack was on its very last thread.

Pepper smiled when he slid onto the couch beside her.

“Are you going to tell me where you were?” She said and passed him a glance of orange juice. Tony noticed how her eyes still strayed to the liquid cabinet and tried to quell the knot in his stomach.

“You would never believe me” He said and gave her a kiss on the cheek before heading to bed.

-

“Ma’am, it’s a better deal if you get the medium latte and add a shot of espresso than ordering the double threat special.” “Young man, I’ve been drinking coffee since before you were born. Please, don’t tell me what to order. I asked for what I asked.”

Tony’s already thin lips tightened further and he stamped the order into the computer. The woman stepped aside with a jerked nod. He tapped his finger against the counted.

“Can I please have just a black coffee. Small, please.”

Peter stood before him wearing the same backpack. His head was pointed down but Tony could tell the kid was smirking.

“Something funny?” He said mirroring the expression of the woman before. Lips tight and puckered with eyebrows raised at the incompetence of a local barista.

The kid’s smile shifted wider and a giggled flowed from his mouth.

“No.” He said but his smile widened as they spied the woman pacing back and forth on the other side of the café. Her eyes glued to the pair of them as they laughed like conspirators in some great plot.

Peter counted out the three dollars and thirty-five cents for his coffee and slipped an extra dollar in. Tony offered the money back, not sure exactly how to tell the kid he didn’t need it nor want it.

At his insistence it ended squished next to the other dollar he received the night before in the front pocket of his apron. It appeared the kid had a stubborn streak.

Peter settled in the same corner seat by the window, pulled out his laptop and got to work. Everything besides the slight stoop in the kid’s shoulders went the same as the previous night.

The shop emptied around the same time besides a few people doing some work. Doug was in the back taking inventory and going over the books, and Tony was wiping down the counters. He paused every so often to take a lap around the store. The window was covered in some type of paint advertising their specials. Through the paint strokes he could see the bare sidewalk and noticed the vacancy signs across the street.

Someone coughed and he began his trek back to the register. Peter was sitting hunched over his laptop. The sounds of sighs and clicking greeted Tony as he walked forward. He stood a few feet away behind the kid and watched the words appear on the cracked computer screen.

He startled back into his seat at the sound of more coffee being poured into his cup. The action earned himself a frown which, at a wave from Tony, turned into a soft smile.

He counted it as a win.

“What are you working on, kid?” He asked.

Peter ran a hand through his hair. A piece stuck up in the back and Tony bit his tongue so he didn’t say anything.

“School’s just…” He waved his hand, grappling for the right word

“Hell?” Tony guessed. The kid nodded. His eyes took on a vacant quality as he stared at the screen. He coughed and Peter looked back at him with flushed cheeks.

“That would be an understatement.” He sighed again. Tony remembered the late nights and ever-present angst bubbling under his skin. That itch to learn and be better; be something more. He could see the same drive in Peter. How though he paid in quarters he shoved extra money in the stack for a tip. The way his back curled as the night progressed but still he continued working.

Something in this kid spoke to Tony.

Maybe he was crazy but maybe this was one of the reasons he’d found The Split Bean.

Tony reached out and put a hand on the kid’s shoulder. He patted it once and let go before swiveling the chair to face Peter. The coffee put went on the table and Tony braced his hands under his chin.

“Lay it on me, kid. I’ve picked up a few things along the way and might be able to help.”

Peter bit his lip and after glancing back and forth between his laptop and Tony, turned the screen around to face him. Tony brought it closer. Formulas and the principles of physics glared back.

“Ah, these ones are little bastards, but if you look at them this way then it should make more sense.” He pointed to the screen and moved some parts of the equation around before launching into an explanation at a small nod from the kid.

Soon they were necks deep in physics and relativistic effects. More coffee was poured and the two of them were sucked into the world of high school science, though this was much more difficult than Tony remembered at his school.

The kid hung onto his every word. It was almost amusing to see Peter try to decide whether to keep his attention on Tony or write verbatim everything Tony was saying down on his notebook. His head whipped back and forth as they continued the impromptu lesson.

Costumers came and went but because it was so late, or early depending on how you looked at it, they were few and far between. Tony got up to serve them and as he made his way back to the corner table couldn’t help the smile cross his face at Peter waiting for him.

The kid packed up around the end of his shift. This time Peter was the one to give a farewell and waved as he walked out the door. He thanked Tony for the help, shuffling his feet on the rug leading out and with a small wave was out the door.

The same process repeated for the next week. The kid, as he was beginning to realize, was polite in a reserved manner and laughed at Tony’s poor attempts at making a joke. Each time Tony refilled his cup the frown and protests would recede quicker and an automatic smile on Tony’s arrival replaced them before long.

There would come a time when the shop emptied out and everyone had their drinks. It was then Tony would make his way over to the table and see if the kid needed any help. So far, they’d covered not only physics but some chemistry. They’d stepped into the world of Shakespeare one morning.

It was another regular day when Peter made a request of Tony that knocked the breath from his chest.

They were sitting around the table in their usual seats. The coffee was poured and Tony tapped the coin through the material of his pants.

Peter hadn’t laughed at the joke he’d made with the order. He didn’t even smile and his money scattered on the floor when he tried to count out the change.

“Everything okay tonight?” He asked. The kid glanced up with wide eyes and nodded before moving to his spot. Not a word was spoken between them besides that.

He was quiet as Tony explained what a massless particle was, not writing any notes down.

Tony stopped talking and leaned forward.

“What’s the matter?” He said. If only the kid would look at him.

Peter played with his napkin and rocked back in his chair. Tony had the urge to reach over and gentle the chair down.

The kid mumbled something and sighed. He ran a hand through his hair and despite the knot growing in his stomach Tony smiled at the patch of hair sticking straight up again. Peter grasped the table and finally his wide eyes met Tony’s.

“Okay. This is weird. Like really weird, but I don’t have anyone else. May’s busy and, well, you’ve been great. I mean not the typical barista and see there’s this thing at my school and…” He paused to catch his breath. “Did you get any of that?”

“Not a damn word, kid. Who’s May?”

Peter smiled.

“May’s my aunt. She raised me and she’s working so she can’t make it but I hoped, and I know I’m overstepping my bounds as costumer, that you could help… possible?”

Tony had a million questions, demands, of the poor kid but he saw the wide set; the hope in Peter’s eyes and knew they could wait.

“Anything you need, Peter. Lay it on me.”

Peter nodded, serious, and folded the napkin in quarters.

“Would you come to career day at Midtown?”

-

It was nice, strange, invigorating. All of the above. The small smile, the way the kid’s lips quirked to the side and his eyes lit up at him changed something in him. His chest felt lighter during those hours; his bones younger.

And he was crazy because of it.

Here he was working at a coffee shop but not any coffee shop. He was working at a café in Queens for an old man who could barely pick up the chairs anymore. That would have been enough for anyone but not Tony. No, there was the kid. This shy child whose smile was making his shift’s brighter and when he’d asked Tony to come to career day knowing only that he made coffee for a living.

Well, who was Tony to say no?

Thank you!

Chapter Four: Tony Finds the Kid Part Two

[what-is-your-plan-today]

Stark Spangled Forever: Man’s Best Friend.

Intro: The Rogers bid a sad goodbye to a member of their family…

Warnings: Pet death- sorry, I know!!

Pairing:  Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

A/N: This was a one shot I started writing a while back when I had to say goodbye to my horse, Cap, and I forgot about it until I was sifting through my files today. It as therapeutic for me to write, and I promise it has a happy end. Hope you all enjoy still reading about my favourite duo as much as I still enjoy writing for them.

I love your re-blogs and comment, as always.

SSF Masterlist // WIYPT Masterlist

It’s a well held opinion that dogs don’t live as long as people because they don’t need to. People need to learn how to be good and kind as life moves on. Dogs are simply born that way…

November 2028

“Steve…” Bucky asked, watching Rori as she lay on the rug in the living room, her legs bent in the air behind her, crossed at the ankle as they swung to and fro. “Why does Rori have odd socks on? Thought it set your teeth on edge?”

“It does.” Steve rolled his eyes from where he sat on the sofa, eyes glued to the Giants game that was on the screen. “But you try getting her to change them.” “She’ll do anything for her uncle Buck…” Bucky smirked and Steve turned to look at him, grinning.

“Go on then…” he said, watching as he knew full well where this was gonna go.

“Hey, Ror…” Bucky spoke. The 4 year old turned her head to look at him with a questioning glance.

“How ‘bout you go change your socks, find 2 yellow ones.” “How ‘bout no?” She replied, turning back to her activity book.

“Rori…” Steve said, sternly at her cheeky reply and her eyes turned to her father. She looked at him, completely unabashed, shrugging with an air that was so goddamned like her mother before she continued what she was doing, clearly no shits given whatsoever.

Steve looked at Bucky, an I-told-you-so smirk sliding on his face as he turned back to the game, beer bottle held in his hand. At that point Jamie came into the room, flopping down next on his bean bag.

“Who’s winning?” he asked, glancing at the large TV.

“The Pats.” Steve said, his nose wrinkling.

“Gross.” Jamie agreed “What we getting for dinner?” “Jay, you ate a whole pizza for lunch like an hour ago.” Steve turned his eyes on him. “You can’t possibly be hungry.” Jamie shrugged.

Steve rolled his eyes “I’ve no idea…if you’re that bad go grab a snack or something…” Jamie pushed himself off the sofa and Rori jumped up toddling after him. “Wait for me…” she called.

Bucky watched them go and turned to Steve with a grin “Gotta hand it to you pal, you got this father thing down to a tee…” Steve looked at him, narrowing his eyes slightly “You being sarcastic?”

“Not at all.” Bucky said “I mean they leave you in peace to watch football, get their own snacks…” At that point there came a piercing scream through the baby monitor signalling that Harry had awoken from his nap.

“You hadda curse it didn’t ya?” Steve sighed, looking at Bucky. Bucky simply smirked as Steve pushed himself up off the sofa and took the stairs two at a time, stepping over Lucky who was sprawled on the larger corner step as the staircase doglegged to the right. He entered his youngest son’s bedroom, to see the tot clutching the bars of his crib, tears pouring down his face.

“Hey pal…” he said softly, and Harry’s face split into a watery grin at the sight of his dad “What’s all the cryin’ for huh?”

“Dadadadadada” he babbled, holding his hands up and Steve smiled as he lifted him out of the crib and found his pacifier which was discarded by his blanket. Handing it to him, Harry shoved it in his mouth and wound his little hands into his Dad’s T-shirt, pressing his teary face into Steve’s neck. Steve smoothed his hair back and gave his head a soft kiss as he grabbed his stuffed giraffe before making his way out of the room, all tears now done, his son silent in his arms.

It would take him a while to come round, Steve knew that. Jamie and Rori had been the same at this age, clingy through disorientation when they woke up, but Harry even more so than his siblings. He had a feeling it was because Katie babied him a lot more than she had with Jamie and Rori, for no other reason than they knew he was their last, and she wanted to cling onto him being that cuddly little boy for as long as she could. She’d been heartbroken when Jamie had no longer cried for her anymore at night and had started refusing her cuddles and stopped sitting on her knee. Thankfully Rori was still at the stage where she was happy to do that but again, give it a few years and she wouldn’t be.

He headed back down the stairs, stepping over Lucky once more who hadn’t moved a muscle all day it seemed. Steve gave him a glance and said his name, the dog lazily thumping his tail against the floor but beyond that he showed no signs of life. He’d noticed the dog slowing down dramatically over the last year or so. His walks had become shorter and shorter, now they literally consisted of a potter to the top of the road so he could pee against the lamppost and then back again, most of his time was spent in the back garden or the step he was on now, simply sleeping, or at night on Jamie’s bed. His eyesight was going too, but on their last trip to the vets a few months ago he was limping quite badly on his front right, they had been told that for his age there was nothing wrong. He was simply old. And Steve could sympathise. At almost 17 Jamie had relayed the message that meant Lucky was almost 90 so as far as he and Katie were concerned, the dog had earned his right to be lazy.

When they walked back into the living room, Harry looked up and gave Bucky the once over. Bucky waggled his fingers at him, and the tot moved the hand that was tangling in Steve’s t-shirt to mimic the action, making the former assassin chuckle slightly as Steve sat back down, his son getting comfortably on his lap, his blue eyes looking around the room. Bucky watched the tot with a little amusement. Whilst Jamie was a carbon copy of his father both in looks and personality bar the distinctly Stark-like nose he had, Aurora was the double of her mother in the same way but had inherited her father’s cheekbones, yet Harry was almost a perfect blend of the two of them. He had the light brown hair, freckles and nose from his mother yet the blue eyes, cheekbones, ears and jawline from Steve.  He seemed to be a lot more placid that his elder brother, but then again there was time yet. He was stubborn, which Steve insisted he got from his mother, but both Bucky and Katie reminded him regularly that he was just as obstinate as she was, if not more so on some occasions.

Jamie and Rori returned and they sat and watched the game, both men and 8 year old fully invested in it, getting annoyed as the Giants made mistake after mistake. At one point Jamie let out an angry snort and rolled his eyes turning to his father asking why they were playing so rubbish. Steve had no response, other than to shrug and comment that it must simply be a bad day at the office…and then, not sooner had he said it, they broke and made a run for the line.

Both Steve and Bucky jumped up, Harry in Steve’s arms now fully awake, and when they hit the touchdown Steve let out a loud cheer, and Harry mimicked him, grinning and clapping. Jamie did some kind of running man dance that Sam had taught him and then dabbed, just like Bruce had shown him how to do years ago. Harry watched before he moved his arms and did the same. Steve laughed.

“Jamie, do that again…” he said.

Jamie turned and repeated the notion, Harry following again, causing Jamie and Steve to crack into identical grins.

“I leave you alone for a few hours…” a voice quipped and Steve spun round to see Katie stood in the doorway, back from the salon with her hair perfectly styled, arms folded, grin on her face. At the sight of his momma, Harry shrieked and wriggled in Steve’s arms. Steve set him down on the floor and he toddled towards her. Smiling she met him halfway and swung him up, peppering kisses all over his face, causing the tot to giggle.

“Hair looks nice…” Bucky commented and Steve shot him a look, fuming that his friend had beaten him to compliment his girl.

“Kiss ass…”

Katie laughed as Bucky grinned innocently. “Thanks Buck.” she glanced around the room “No Sam?”

“Gone to see his sister.” Steve said, dropping kiss to her cheek as she moved to sit down on the couch. “Your hair does look good.”

She smiled at him, Harry winding his hands into the soft curls, the ends slightly lighter than the rest. “Won’t do for long if he keeps playing with it.” she looked around the room and frowned “Where’s Lucky?”

“On his step” Steve said, “Hasn’t moved since you left. I’ll take him up the road when the game’s finished”

“I’ll do it.”  Katie shook her head “I’ll take Harry, give him a chance to toddle outside for a bit…fancy it baby? Wanna take Lucky for a walk?”

Harry clapped his hands “Uck uck…” he nodded.

“You wanna come Jamie?” she asked. He shook his head from where he was lounging on a bean bag, eyes glued to the game. “Rori?”

Rori took a bit longer to consider before she also shook her head.

“Suit yourselves…” she said, standing up. She took Harry into the hallway and retrieved his coat, scarf and hat from the pegs before bundling him up and slipping on his boots. Once he was ready she wrapped herself up and then called Lucky down, jangling his lead. The dog padded down the stairs and sat obediently whilst she clipped his lead on and they headed outside.

It was a slow walk, Harry still unsteady on his feet but he chattered away, his speech was taking shape much faster than his siblings had, the three of them stopping every so often so Lucky could sniff at something. As they reached his preferred lamppost, at the end of their road, Lucky went to cock his leg but to Katie’s horror he wobbled and collapsed onto his side.

“Shit…” she muttered. Dropping gently to her knees she stroked the dog’s head and looked him over, noticing his breathing had become a little shallow.

“Ucky ‘leepy.” Harry said where he stood by his momma.

Katie took a deep breath and pulled out her phone to call Steve.

“Hey?” his confused voice answered “You ok?”

“No Lucky’s collapsed…”she said, fighting back her tears. “I can’t lift him to get him home…” “Ok, wait there…” Steve said, cutting the call.

Less than a minute later Katie looked up at the sound of feet slapping on the damp sidewalk to see Steve sprinting towards them, not even having bothered to put a jacket on.

He dropped down besides her and took a second to look at their dog before he glanced at Katie, the pair of them sharing worried and sad expressions.

“Let’s get him to the vets.” Steve said, as Katie wiped the tears off her face. He gently and easily scooped the retreiver into his arms as Katie picked up Harry and they quickly made their way home.

**** They left the two youngest with Bucky, Jamie insisting on coming with them. At 8 years old he was clever enough to understand what was going on, and as Katie pointed out to Steve it was only fair he came with them for what the adults both knew deep down was going to be Lucky’s last trip.

Jamie sat on the back seat, Lucky’s head in his lap, softly talking to the dog as Steve drove through streets to the local vet surgery. He glanced in the mirror at his son, then over to Katie who was biting her thumbnail, her knee jerking nervously. He took her left hand in his and gently pressed a kiss to her knuckles and she kept hold of his fingers until he had to gently untangle his hand from hers as he pulled the car into a space.

Katie went into the surgery whilst Steve stayed with Jamie, the young boy eventually breaking the silence.

“Is he gonna die dad?”

Steve felt his chest tighten as he debated how to answer. He never lied to his kids as much as could be helped so with a sigh he turned to face Jamie who was sat in the back, his eye full of fear.

“Jay…he’s an old dog.” Steve said softly “I think he might be ready to go yeah…” Jamie bowed his head a sniffed and at that point the passenger side door opened and Katie popped her head in.

“They can see us now” she said softly.

Steve nodded and climbed out, before he lifted Lucky into his arms. Jamie slipped his hand into Katie’s as they walked into the surgery and were ushered into a quiet examination room at the back.

The Vet, they knew as John Mason smiled at them as he walked in, his round spectacles perched on his nose. He greeted them kindly as Katie explained what had happened and he gently gave the dog an examination, and Katie had to stifle the sob as even then Lucky was feebly wagging his tail.

“I’m so sorry.” The Vet looked at Katie and Steve sympathetically as he sighed “As I told you the other month, Lucky is a very old dog. I could try some pain killers and maybe a vitamin supplement but you’re just going to be delaying the inevitable…” Katie pinched her nose and bowed her head, tears filling her eyes “We won’t want him to be in any pain.” Steve slid his arm round her as Jamie’s hand tangled into hers and gave it a squeeze as he sniffed. “Mom…” She looked down to see her eldest son crying and she crouched down so she was level with him suddenly struck with the fact that in another few years she probably wouldn’t need to do that.

“I’m sorry baby…” she sniffed, her tears trickling down her face “There’s nothing we can do… I think we need to let him go to sleep.” She glanced up at Steve, her soldier’s eyes were also filled with tears as he too crouched down to look Jamie in the eye. “Your mom’s right buddy. He’s a very old dog. And we don’t want to see him in any more pain do we?”

Jamie shook his head, wiping his face with his hands “But he’s my dog. My best friend…” “I know sweetheart.” Katie sniffed, her lip trembling “But you’ll always have memories, and we can bring him home and bury him by his tree.” “The pee tree?” Jamie sniffed, and Steve gave a little chuckle.

“The pee tree.” he nodded.

Jamie looked up at the vet as his parents stood up at either side of him, Steve’s hand resting on the top of his head. “Will it hurt him?”

“No.” The vet said “I’ll give him an injection first that will put him to sleep and then the second one will stop his heart. It will be very fast, he won’t feel a thing.” Katie glanced down and could see Jamie was contemplating something before he looked at her “Can we stay with him? He’ll be scared if we don’t…” “Of course we can.” Katie nodded.

The Vet glanced at her then to Steve who gave him a small nod of permission and Mason straightened up. “I’ll give you a few minutes with him ok? I’ll go and get everything prepped.” The door clicked shut behind him and Jamie tugged on Steve’s arm “Can you lift me up?”

Steve nodded and gently swung Jamie up onto the bench where he shuffled and gently lifted Lucky’s head into his lap. The dog’s tail began to thump again and that was when Katie turned away, her sobs silent. Steve gently reached out to her and she pressed her face into his chest, her shoulders shaking.

Steve was devastated too. That dog had seen so much with them since he had found him at Clint’s after the snap. He’d seen Emmy come and live with them, grow up, she’d wiped her tears into his fur the first time Peter had finished with her, then the second time, and the third time. He’d seen the birth of all 3 of the younger kids, and had been curious at the small, noisy human that had been Jamie when they had brought him home but had fast become the boy’s self-appointed guardian, taking up sentinel position outside his room whilst he had been young, and then moved himself into the room once he had been older. He’d put up with Rori covering him in pink glitter, been an expert at stealing toast off their plates if you weren’t looking and both he and Katie had enjoyed his company later at night when he used to sidle up next to them on the couch or outside on the decking as they spent their later evenings together. Up until about 2 years ago he’d been Steve’s running companion, one that he had missed a lot when he pounded the streets of Brooklyn and he knew that Katie talked to the dog as well when she was cooking and he was hovering, waiting for scraps. Steve had also sketched the dog, more times than he cared to remember, one of the best drawings he had done of him sat with Jamie on the kitchen step adorned Jamie’s wall in a frame above his bed and another one of him and all of the kids in the garden was displayed on the sideboard in the Den.

There was no doubt about it, losing him was going to leave a huge, Lucky shaped hole in their lives.

Steve looked at Jamie and tuned in to hear his son assuring the dog that he would be ok, and that he wouldn’t hurt, but it was when he told him to say hi to his Uncle Nee and Auntie Nat-Nat that he felt Katie give a choked sob and he wrapped his arms further around his wife, his own tear falling into her hair.

The vet returned a little while later and Jamie made to move but he stopped him.

“You can stay there…” he said kindly, “He seems nice and calm.” Jamie nodded, watching as the vet gently prepared Lucky’s leg to find a vein and inserted the first needle, explaining what was going on.

“He’s going to fall asleep now…” He said, removing the needle and Katie moved from Steve’s hold to press face into the dogs fur behind his neck, just as Steve had seen her do so many times before when she’d either been upset or just in the mood for a cuddle.

“Sweet dreams puppy.” she said softly, standing up, and smoothing his fur down as Steve reached out and scratched the dogs’ ears.

“Miss you buddy.” he said, sniffing slightly as the vet injected the next drug. Jamie began to cry softly as he bent his head, Lucky’s breathing eventually stopping.

“Do you want to take his collar?” The vet asked gently as Jamie continued to stroke his beloved dog’s head and Katie looked at him.

“Jamie?”

He sniffed and nodded, and Steve moved forward, gently undoing the blue leather collar that was studded with metal bones from around his neck, Lucky’s name tag glinting in the light.

*****

December

Steve opened the trunk to the car as Jamie walked round to join him, grabbing the dog basket that contained the freshly washed blankets.

“You got it?” Steve looked at him as Jamie easily lifted the item, another trait he had inherited from his dad, strength.

“Yeah…” Jamie assured him as Steve lifted the 2 large bags of dog food they had swung by the store for onto his shoulder and shut the trunk. Together they trudged through the snow into the animal shelter and Steve pushed the door open. The receptionist looked up and smiled at them.

“We have some donations.” Steve smiled at her, dropping the bags onto the floor.

“And there’s this too.” Jamie offered, “Our dog died last month and he would want other dogs to have these…”

The receptionist came out from the desk and glanced at the basket, blankets and various toys which didn’t contain the rope tug chew that Lucky had been so attached to. That had stayed home and was going to be nailed to the tree they’d buried his ashes under.

“Sorry to hear about your dog.”  She said. “Was he old?”

“17.” Jamie nodded, sniffing slightly “He was my best friend.”

Steve dropped a hand to his son’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze as Jamie wiped his face. He knew his eldest son was still grieving. All of them were, Emmy had been distraught when they had called her at University to break the news and Clint had also been a ltitle upset, the archer thanking them for giving him such a good home for the past 10 years. His collar now rest next to a photo of him in the hallway and a few times over the last 4 weeks Steve had silently observed Jamie simply holding it, for a few moments, before he would place it back down and Steve had hastily made his retreat so his son never knew his dad had been intruding on his moments of grief and remembrance. They’d left all the decisions about what to do with the rest of his things to Jamie, who had announced the previous day that he was ready to give Lucky’s basket and toys away and both he and Katie had been so upset but so proud of their boy when he said he wanted to take it to the local shelter along with some food in Lucky’s memory.

“We’ll make good use of them.” the receptionist assured him. Jamie nodded and looked up.

“Can we go now?”

“Sure buddy, come one.” Steve said, giving the receptionist another smile before he steered the boy towards the door. As they walked Jamie casually glanced up at the board on the wall which contained photos of the animals ready for adoption and stopped dead.

“Dad…” he said, pointing “Look…”

Steve followed his hand and scanned the board. “Jamie, what…”

“The one in the middle…” he said gently, “look at his name.”

Steve scanned the adverts when he spotted the one Jamie was talking about.  It was a white and tan dog with a huge bushy tail and pointy ears. The dog’s large brown eyes wore an expression that was worried and scared, which wasn’t surprising considering he was in a rescue and as he looked at the details learning the dog was approximately 5 years old and had been picked up as a stray, he read the name and his eyes widened.

“Well I’ll be damned…” he gave a low chuckle.

Jamie looked at him. “Can we see him?”

“Jamie…”

“I just want to see him….” his son said desperately “That name!”

Steve glanced down at Jamie again who was wearing a look of hope on his face and he signed. “Fine, ok, we can see him. But just looking ok?”

Famous last words.

It was a well-worn joke in the Rogers house hold that whilst Dad was the one that dished out the worst telling’s off when mum told him they’d been misbehaving and weren’t listening to her, he was also the pushover out of the two, the one who the kids went to first if they wanted something.

So now, it was no surprise that Jamie turned all of his best pleading and reasoning on his father as he looked up at him from where he was crouched petting the dog, whose tail was wagging furiously.

“Please dad…” Jamie looked at him, “Lucky sent him to us, he has to have done…”

“We can’t just take another dog home…not without asking your mom.” Steve shook his head

“Why not? She does stuff all the time that you tell her not to.”

Ok so that was true. And it wasn’t like they hadn’t talked about getting another dog, they’d agreed they’d wait until after Christmas though, and then come to the rescue as a family…but, as he looked at the dog, although he didn’t believe in fate, he had to admit the name was one hell of a coincidence. And when the volunteer who had taken them to see the dog had explained just why the dog was called that…well, he was struggling really to argue with Jamie about it being a sign.

Even though fate was a load of bullshit.

Steve took another look at his son. His young face was radiating utter joy, something that had been absent from his life since he’d lost his faithful companion. With a low groan, Steve turned to the volunteer.

“Hypothetically speaking, if we wanted to adopt him…”

“You need to fill out a form and we do a quick background check but, well, seeing as it’s his last day today there won’t  be a home check or anything so…” “His last day?” Jamie’s head snapped up.

“Yeah he’s been here 4 weeks. We don’t keep them longer than that.”

“What…” the young boy said, his mouth dropping open “You mean…” “Afraid so.” The woman sighed “We don’t have the space or…”

Jamie turned his blue eyes on his father, as the death row inmate in question licked his rosy cheeks,  his tail wagging furiously.

“Damned it…” Steve grumbled as he turned back to the woman “Better show me the form then…” ***** “Honey?” Steve called as he, Jamie and mutt entered the hallway “Don’t go mad, but… “Mad?” her voice called back, “What would I be…”

Katie stopped dead as the dog pattered into the kitchen, bushy tail raised as he looked around sniffing, Jamie still holding his leash. Harry gave a shriek of excitement from his chair.

Steve held his hands up, palms out “This was not my idea…” “It was his last day mom.” Jamie looked up as Katie crouched to pet the dog, her mouth still hanging open. “They were gonna kill him and we saw his photo and then his name and…” “His name?” Katie asked, looking up and almost falling back as the dog jumped up, two paws on her chest as he licked her face, his tail wagging furiously. “Why, what’s his name?” Steve, picking Harry up out of his chair, glanced at Jamie who grinned and looked at his mom as he spoke “Stark.”

“What?” she whispered softly, looking at Jamie then to Steve. Steve nodded to confirm what his son was saying was true. “He’s…called Stark?”

Steve nodded, setting Harry down on the floor watching as the tot headed over to the dog, Katie showing him how to pet him softly.  “The Wardens picked him up by that huge memorial-slash-murial of Tony near the park.” he said softly “Hence his name.” He watched as his wife’s eyes filled with tears and she stood up, hastily wiping her face. Steve reached out and rubbed her arm as she turned and moved back to where she had been chopping vegetables for dinner. Jamie stood up a little tentatively, looking at his dad before he glanced at his mother.

After a moments pause she spoke “Suppose you best go show him your sister if he’s staying. She’s in the den.”

Jamie’s face split into a huge grin and he dropped the dogs leash and rushed over to his mom. “Thank you….” She turned to give him a hug, gently ruffling his hair before he took the dogs leash again and headed out of the room, Stark eagerly trotting by his side. Harry followed and Steve turned to Katie.

“You’re an ass hole.” she narrowed her eyes at him before she turned back to the vegetables and he laughed as he crossed the room, wrapping his arm around her from behind as he kissed her neck.

“I’m sorry but…well come on, tell me you would have left him there.”

She took a deep breath, but her silence told Steve all he needed to know.

“So now we have a son and a dog named after Tony and a daughter who shares his birthday.” she said, snorting “He’ll be laughing his head off up there.” Steve chuckled and they both turned as their kids walked back into the room, followed by their new dog who was now sporting a pink and blue bandana round his neck.

“I don’t like the collar from the rescue…” Jamie shrugged, as Rori giggled.

“Stark looks pretty.”

“Why don’t you let him outside?” Steve asked, “So he can see the garden.”

Jamie nodded and opened the door, the dog hesitating slightly before he stepped out and down the patio, before letting out a huge bark and running onto the grass. He dropped and rolled onto his back, happily before he jumped up and walked over to Lucky’s Tree. He sniffed, and then as they watched he cocked his leg and peed straight up the side of the trunk.

With a huff Jamie grinned, his arms folded as he leaned against the door frame, his father doing the same slightly higher up. “Still the pee tree…Dad.” “Still the Pee tree.” Steve nodded, agreeing. Katie snorted at the ridiculous similarity between the two and shook her head slightly as she held Harry on her hip. “What do you think pal?”

Harry laughed and clapped his hand “pee”

She pressed a kiss to his cheek and her attention turned to Steve who gave her a wink.

“You’re still an ass hole.” she said to him.

“Language.” he shot back, as he moved over to where she was stood and whispered into her hear. “Make it up to you later pretty girl.”

There was something about the way he said that phrase that always sent shivers down her spine. He kissed the side of her neck again, before he headed out of the kitchen and Katie watched him go before she turned to look at Jamie and Rori who both shared a hi-five as Jamie whistled. Stark’s ears picked up and as he shouted to the dog he came bounding back over and into the kitchen, his tail wagging furiously before he dropped onto his back for a belly rub.

“I love him already!” Rori giggled and Jamie looked up at his mum, his eyes so like his fathers locked onto hers and he smiled.

“Love you momma.”

And if Steve hadn’t already won her over with his loaded promise a few moments ago, that would have done it there and then.

There was a lot of excitement over the new addition to the Rogers household, but eventually later that night they managed to get the 3 kids into bed, Jamie leaving his bedroom door open so that Stark could find where he felt more comfortable to sleep.

When they were heading to bed, Katie took a shower in the en-suite, and as she turned the water off she could hear Steve talking to someone or something. Assuming he was on the phone to Emmy, which wasn’t uncommon last thing at night she opened the door and stopped dead. Stark was nestled next to Steve on the bed, his nose tucked under Steve’s as the super-soldier gently held the pup like he was one of their kids, softly cooing at him.

She gave a cough and he looked up at her sheepishly, shrugging.

“What can I say?” he smiled, raising an eyebrow “I have a thing for Starks…”

N.B. Yes, the dog I had in my mind was Dodger, and I’m doing this shamelessly so that I can use photos of him and Chris because I’m a thirsty ho…

@the-omni-princess​  @momobaby227​ @geekofmanythings16​ @angelofhell-666​ @thewackywriter​ @marvelfansworld​​  @cobalt-gear​  @asgardlover75​ @jennmurawski13​​​  @jtargaryen18​​ @saiyanprincessswanie​​  @navispalace​​ @patzammit​​  @joannaliceevans-fanficblog​​  @icanfeelastormbrewing​​ @djeniiscorner​​  @ayamenimthiriel​​  @coldmuffinbanditshoe​​  @disneylovingal​​ @madzmilllz​  @sgtjaamesbaarnes​ @official-and-unstable-satan​ @jhayes6984 @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​

[littlelovelyspiderling]

The Experiment

Peter Parker agrees to help Black Widow test a new device. When he gets stuck, some of his fellow Avengers decide to have some fun. Post Infinity War so SPOILERS!!

Word count: 6,713

“Hey kid, how strong are you?”

Peter blinked and looked up from his homework, which was strewn across the coffee table in a chaotic jumble. “Who, me?”

“No, the other kid sitting criss-cross on the floor eating three orders of In-and-Out french fries.”

The teen smiled shyly, licking the salt from his fingers. “Oh, right. Well, um, strong? Yeah, I’m pretty strong.”

It was a long weekend. After a lot of begging and bribing, May had agreed to let him spend it at the Avengers compound. It actually took less convincing than Peter had expected, seeing how May had doubled down on strictness ever since her nephew’s impromptu field trip to space and the catastrophic fallout that had come to pass. Now that everything was back to normal, everyone seemed a lot more tense and protective. It took weeks before she let him go back to his evening patrols. But when he brought up Mr. Stark’s invitation to stay at the upstate facility for a few days, insisting that he’d get all his homework done and do the dishes for the next month, May had voiced her approval surprisingly readily. Maybe she was sick of having him cooped up in the house with her for so long: school had been canceled for a spell as the world tried to piece itself back together.

Or maybe she’d noticed how shaken the experience had left Peter, and she thought the weekend getaway might help cheer him up a little. If he was being honest with himself, Peter still wasn’t fully recovered from the whole ‘dying then coming back to life’ ordeal, and he felt like he’d never be back to his old self again.

But he refused to let anything spoil this trip for him. Because he was at the Avengers facility. Training, studying, and hanging with the Avengers for an entire three days. He could hardly contain his excitement.

“On a scale from Tony Stark sans suit to the Hulk, how strong would you say you are?”

“Hey,” Tony groused from the opposite side of the room. He shot a glare over his shoulder before turning back to the dizzying screen of 3D displays in front of him, which his fingers danced across like keys on a piano. “Why you gotta do me like that, Romanoff? I’m strong. I lift. I drink protein shakes and wheat grass and all that shit.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. Peter giggled.

“I would guess I’m somewhere between Captain America and the Hulk. Probably closer to Cap. Definitely below Thor.”

“You think you’re stronger than Steve?” Natasha asked. He was expecting judgement, but her tone carried an air of curiosity instead.

“Only because I was able to hold an entire ferry together,” he said. He glanced at Stark and lowered his voice. “And I sorta lifted an entire building off myself.”

“Really?” Natasha mused. “Well, in that case, I’d say you’re the perfect candidate.”

Spider-Man frowned, tilting his head to the side. “Candidate? For what?”

“Stark, you mind if I borrow the kid for a minute?”

Tony waved his hand in acknowledgement, murmuring under his breath as he continued to work. Peter hadn’t seen the man this busy since he’d gone about sorting through the complicated situation between Secretary Ross’ government agenda and the newly-reformed Avengers. Now, nano-tech was the word that kept popping up time and time again. He had no idea how his mentor could possibly make his Iron Man armors any cooler than they already were, yet he always found a way to make it so.

“Sweet,” Natasha said, taking the young hero by the wrist. “Come on, this way.”

Peter Parker had to admit: he was a little scared of Black Widow. He’d seen her fight, he knew her rep, and in her presence he always felt a bit uneasy, like she could break his neck at any moment and he’d never see it coming. Not that he expected she would—in general, Ms. Romanoff was nice to him. Certainly nicer than Sam or Dr. Strange, who never missed a chance to poke fun at him due his age, his height, or anything else they decided to find amusing at the time. Of course, Peter always had a witty comeback to counter with, and he knew deep down they didn’t actually hate him. At least, he hoped not.

But Natasha was close to impossible to get any kind of read on. She could seem very kind and relaxed one minute then serious and deadly the next. And no matter what she was doing, it always felt liked she had a secret ulterior motive at play, one that Peter could never guess.

She brought him to the next floor down. The elevator opened to large lab, which was packed with all sorts of machines, equipment, vehicles, and weapons. Most of them were covered by sheets and blanketed in a thick layer of dust, as if they hadn’t been touched in years. Others looked like they’d just been used, and some of the large machines were currently hard at work, creaking and grinding with progress.

“Wow,” Peter said. “What is this place?”

“Storage unit for all of the Avengers’ new tech,” she replied, stepping through the doors and on to stained concrete. “Some of its ancient, outdated. Lots of old Stark tech. We get new loads from S.H.I.E.L.D. every week.”

Peter followed, gazing around in awe. He trailed his fingers along the rows and rows of tarps, squinting to try to see what treasures lied hidden underneath. His touch caused one of the sheets to slip off to one side, and he froze in place.

“No way,” he gawked. He reached out and pressed his hand to the cold metal. “No freaking way! Is that—is this—Mr. Stark’s Hulkbuster armor? The giant Iron Man suit he used to stop Dr. Banner when he went crazy in South Africa?”

Natasha smiled at his childlike giddiness. “Yes, it is. Just the helmet, though. The rest is still under repairs after the fight in Wakanda.”

Peter squished his face against the dim lens and cupped his hands around his eyes. “This is so cool! I bet it’s like being inside a Transformer, or one of those huge Pacific Rim Jaeger things!”

“Probably,” she said, turning around to stifle a laugh. Geez—no wonder Stark was so destroyed after losing this kid. She pushed a lock of hair out of her face. “But that’s not the tech I brought you down here for.”

Spider-Man glanced up eagerly. “Which one? Am I gonna get to test some of the weapons in here? Is there, like, a strength-tester type machine or something?” For an instant, his excitement deflated. “Wait. You didn’t bring me down here just to make me move stuff, did you? Is that why you asked how strong I am? Because you want me to carry a bunch of heavy things around? I mean, I’m not saying no, I was just kinda hoping—”

“I’m not making you move things,” she assured him. She walked across the room to a counter that housed a wide assortment of tiny devices. She grabbed one from the line and tossed it to the ground where it materialized into a new shape in an instant, expanding like a high-tech version of those capsules you leave in water that grow into colorful dinosaurs. She nodded towards it. “I need you to help me test this thing out.”

Peter grinned and ran to her side. He skidded to a stop and beamed at the strange contraption. To his surprise, it looked like nothing more than flat, metal, slightly slanted table. A wrinkle formed along his brow as he tried to understand what the big deal was.

“A…table?” he said bemusedly. He poked at it, expecting it to grow legs or something. “What are we testing? How many cups I can stack on it before everything falls?”

“It’s from Wakanda,” she explained. “It’s made of vibranium.”

Spider-Man’s eyes widened. “Whoa, seriously? Like, the stuff Cap’s shield is made of?”

“Yes. Which means it’s hella expensive, so if it doesn’t work, I’m gonna be pissed.”

“What does it do?” he asked.

Natasha leaned against it with both hands. “It’s supposed to be able to completely immobilize enhanced individuals. In a situation where someone like you or Thor or an enemy possessing superhuman strength needs to be restrained in order to keep others safe, this thing can stop them in an instant and hold them for as long as we need.” She turned back to him and crossed her arms over her chest. “Sure would’ve been nice to have something like this back when we were fighting those alien freaks.”

Peter stared at her then back at the table. “So…it’s like…a cage…?”

“In a sense. It’s more like an instant straight-jacketing machine. Here, let me show you.”

She grabbed him by the shoulders and moved him to the open space in the center of the room. He stumbled awkwardly over his feet until she had him place, feeling a little silly. Pulling two small beads from her belt, Natasha walked towards the back wall to stand opposite of him. She stopped when there was about twenty feet of space between them.

“All right, so let’s pretend we’re fighting.” She rolled the pair of beads between her fingers. “You’re an evil murderous alien monster with super strength. I’m the heroic Avenger who needs to stop you.” She coaxed him forward with a twitch of her hand. “Now, run at me like you’re going to attack me.”

Peter had no idea where this was going. He was a little afraid, but also incredibly curious. He swallowed his fear, then balled his hands into fists at his side.

“Um, okay. If you say so.”

Without allowing himself to think on it longer, Spider-Man charged. He didn’t know what she expected him to do once he reached her. Fortunately or not, he didn’t get the chance to find out. Before he had cleared ten feet, Natasha flung the beads at him. They split in half mid-air, then zipped towards him as tiny streaks of light. Peter was startled when he felt both of his wrists and ankles get hit with something. He staggered to a stop, staring down at his hands to find thick metal cuffs latched around both arms. They weren't attached by a chain or anything—they were just stuck there, like two heavy bracelets. He looked to Natasha with a scowl.

“Wait, what the hell are—?”

A beep sounded from what appeared to be a watch she was wearing. She had her thumb against a button in the center. Instantly, Peter was yanked sideways by the metal clasps. He yelped in surprise. He didn’t even have time to register what was happening before his back collided with a cold, smooth surface, and he found himself staring up at the ceiling, stunned.

“W-what the—?” Spider-Man tried to lift his arms, but they were pinned down by the metal wristbands. His legs, too, had succumbed to the same fate: arrested flat and completely immobile. Two bands of silvery-looking material shot out from underneath both of his shoulders and stretched across his collarbone, connecting in the middle of his chest to form a belt that restrained him even more than he already was. The same restrictive bands also formed around both of his knees. It took him a few moments to register that he was stuck to the vibranium table that had looked so innocuous only minutes ago, and he could barely move.

“M-Ms. Romanoff?” he called out fearfully. He strained to lift his head, which was about the only movement he was capable of. His terror subsided a little when she stepped into his narrow frame of view, looking just as surprised as he was.

“Holy crap. That was…wow.” She stared down at her watch, which Peter concluded was some kind of controller for the restraining device. “Those are some seriously strong magnets.”

“Is it working? I mean, is this what it’s supposed to be doing?” He squirmed and shifted as much as he could. He wasn’t prone to claustrophobia, but being rendered so completely incapable of moving definitely rubbed him the wrong way.

“Yep. Perfectly. It’s designed to rapidly capture and contain opponents. It’s amazing how they manage to fit so much stuff inside such a tiny container.” She held out the device on her wrist as she spoke. “The base plate can shrink or grow to accommodate different kinds of combatants, from Antman-sized to up to twenty by twenty feet. It also has different levels of containment for more powerful enemies.”

Peter nodded, trying his best to look relaxed. “That’s—yeah, that’s really impressive. For sure.” He attempted to shrug, but even that was beyond his ability. “Seems a bit overkill, though, don’t you think?”

“There’s no such thing as overkill when it comes to protecting the world from aliens, kiddo.” She clicked a few of the buttons on her wrist controller. “I could set it so that you’re entire body is electrified stiff, or where every joint and tendon have their own personal restraints. The highest setting is essentially that scene from Star Wars where Han Solo gets stuck in carbonite, except with vibranium.”

“Really?” Peter beamed. “From The Empire Strikes Back? That’s actually possible? That’s insane!” Then he winced, flexing his fingers nervously. “But, um, please don’t do that to me.”

“I won’t,” Natasha said. “All I need for you to do now is to try your hardest to break out.”

The teen blinked. “Break out?”

“Shuri claimed that on the lowest security setting, not even the Hulk should be able to escape. In the event I need to use this thing in the future, I want to make sure that’s true. But since Bruce is still having trouble ‘hulking out’ and Thor would probably end up short-circuiting the whole mechanism, I figured you’d be the best test subject.” She gestured towards him with a wave of her hand. “So, whenever you’re ready.”

“Just…go crazy? Like an animal caught in a trap?”

She shrugged. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

Scoffing, Peter turned to look at the ceiling. “Okay. I’ll, uh, do my best.”

And he did. Peter summoned every ounce of his spider strength to try to break free of the bonds, straining and wrenching and twisting with all his might. He even tried getting his fingers around the cuffs and bending the metal so he could wriggle his way out. All of his efforts were to no avail. The vibranium restraints had him beat. He was stuck. Knowing that Shuri had designed the device, it didn’t exactly surprise him.

“So I guess that means it works,” Peter concluded, panting softly. “Yay.”

“It’s a very sturdy contraption,” Natasha agreed. “It should come in handy in the future.”

Spider-Man bit the inside of his cheek. “So, um, does that mean I can get out now? Or are there other things you need help with?”

“No, that’s it. Just give me a second. I need to write something down.”

Peter nodded, and she walked back to the counter, tapping at one of the screens. He rested against the metal table, more than ready to be able to move freely again.

A moment later, the elevator at the back of the room dinged and opened. As the person entered the lab, it took Peter a second to determine their identity from his unconventional position. The figure stopped when he saw him, furrowing his brow.

“Peter? Is that you?” Sam glanced to his right. “Uh, Nat? What’s going on here?”

“Science experiment,” she replied, not looking up.

“We’re testing to see if I can break out of this restraining thingy with my super strength!” Peter said enthusiastically. “It’s supposed to catch bad guys who have enhanced abilities and whatnot.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Can you?”

The young hero pouted. “No. But it’s made of vibranium, and it’s meant to stop people as strong as the Hulk, so…”

Sam walked to stand beside him, placing his hands on his hips. “Huh. Interesting.”

“All right, all done,” Nat said. She trekked across the room with her wrist held to her eyes. “Ready to be free?”

“Yes please,” Peter said sheepishly. But before she clicked the release button, Sam held up his hand.

“Hold on, Romanoff,” he said. His lips twitched into the tiniest sliver of a smile. “How exactly were you testing to see if he could break out?”

Natasha narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean? I just told him to try to escape, and he couldn’t.”

“But that’s so unrealistic,” Sam insisted. “If you had a bad guy trapped in that thing, they would be fighting to get out like their life depended on it. He’s got no incentive to escape.”

Peter shifted against the restraints. “I mean, I am pretty uncomfortable. And my pride’s a little hurt that I wasn’t strong enough to get out.”

Sam shook his head, clearly unconvinced. “Uh-uh. If you really want to test this contraption’s integrity, you’ll have to give the kid a compelling reason to escape.”

“Like ice cream?” he suggested a little too quickly. When Sam snorted and rolled his eyes, he faked a cough. “I mean, um, a steak? Two steaks. And a cold brandy on ice.”

“Go ahead and try if you want,” Natasha told him. “But I seriously doubt there’s any way he’s getting out of this thing on his own. Even with ice cream on the line.”

Sam laid his hands on the metal table. A smirk pulled at the corners of his lips, like he knew something that nobody else did. “Well, that wasn’t really the type of incentive I had in mind, Romanoff. You’re suggesting we give him an award for escaping, which is one way to go about this. But I think punishing him for not getting out would be much more effective.”

Peter frowned. “Punish me? How? Isn’t being stuck in this thing already punishment enough?”

Sam drummed his fingers against the table. Peter could feel the short vibrations humming against his back.

“I’ve got one idea in mind,” he said, raising his hand over Peter’s midsection. “Are you ticklish, kid?”

The question took him by surprise. It was not something that came up in casual conversation. He wondered why Sam thought the information was pertinent to the experiment, until he realized what this was leading to. His first instinct was to guard himself, because experience had taught him that no matter what answer you gave in response, you were going to get tickled. But his wrists simply strained against the clasps. His arms were locked in place, splayed out at both of his sides. His feet and legs were firmly glued to the table. He hadn’t expected anyone to take advantage of the helpless situation Ms. Romanoff had placed him in, so he hadn’t even considered just how vulnerable he was in his current state. Until now.

Peter’s ears went red.

“I—um—I don’t—w-why—”

Those were the only words he got out before a finger poked him in the belly. A high-pitched squeak jumped from his throat before he could stop it. The grin that overtook Sam’s features made him want to die.

“Oh, so you are,” he said mischievously. Peter’s face flushed four different shades of pink in a matter of seconds. “In that case, this ought to give you a very big incentive to escape, don’t you think?”

“W-wahahait!” Peter stammered. Sam had literally touched him once, but knowing what was about to come was filling him with so much anxiety that he couldn’t contain the laughter already seeping into his voice. He pulled against the cuffs as hard as he could, but he knew it was hopeless. “I—I can’t get out! It’s impossible!”

“Aw, come on now, Spider-ling,” Sam said, swirling his finger just above his stomach. “I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit. I know you can do this. I believe in you. All you need is a little motivation.”

With that, Sam started poking his belly with both index fingers, moving up and down his torso with teasingly casual movements. Within seconds, Peter was reduced to a helpless bundle of giggles, recoiling at every touch as much as the restraints would allow. Peter had been tickled before, so he knew he was pretty sensitive, but never like this. Being unable to defend himself made it a hundred billion times worse than all the times Uncle Ben had pinned him to the bed when he was little, or when May would trap him in the corner of the couch and tickle his neck with her fiendish nails. Here, stuck inside an inescapable restraint machine, there was nothing he could do but laugh himself into a frenzy.

“Nohoho! Plehehease!” the teen begged. Sam only grinned wider.

“Are you kidding? I’m barely even touching you.” Suddenly, all ten of Sam’s fingers convened on his stomach at once and began to scribble all over mid-section. “Now, if I was doing something like this—yeah, that would make sense.”

If Peter was able, he’d be thrashing all over the place, kicking his legs and hugging his arms around his body. Instead, the only thing he could do was desperately try to angle himself away from Sam’s merciless fingers. To his dismay, his efforts did nothing to dampen the onslaught of tickles, and his light giggling transformed into heavy, uncontrollable laughter that racked his entire frame. Off to the side, Natasha watched the poor kid amusedly. Not even she could deny how adorable he was.

“Ms. Rohohmahahanoff!” Peter squealed, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his face against the table. “Hehahahehehelp!”

Sam looked up from Peter without slowing his attack. “Yeah, Ms. Romanoff. Why don’t you help? I could use a hand over here.”

Natasha hinted a smile. “That’s okay. I think you’re doing just fine on your own.” She snagged a can of beer from the fridge in the cabinet and cracked it open. “But keep it up. I think it’s working.”

“You know what? I think you’re right.” He leaned towards the kid’s bright red face, tickling every inch of his tummy. “You hear that, Spidey? Nat believes in you too. Just try a little harder, and you’ll be out of here in no time!”

“Shuhuhahat up!” Peter laughed. “Y-you—you—ahahahahasshole!”

Sam stuck his tongue into the inside of his cheek. “What was that?” he said threateningly, grinning from ear to ear. He moved his hands down to Peter’s sides. “What did you just call me?” He started kneading his thumbs into the kid’s hipbones, going faster and faster with every passing second. “No, go ahead. Say it again. I dare you.”

Poor little Peter began to shriek with giggles. Clearly name-calling in his defenseless position was not a wise idea. Sam couldn’t help but chuckle at how high-pitched and childlike the young hero’s laughter was. He was too cute for his own good.

“Is someone dying in here?” a voice called from across the room. Sam turned to see Clint Barton standing at the foot of the stairs, furrowing his brow.

“Oh, hey B,” he greeted him. “Naw, no one’s dying. I’m just trying to motivate the kid to get out of this device on his own. He’s got really bad self-esteem issues.”

The archer strolled over to the metal table where Spider-Man lied. He was relieved to find that the noise he was hearing wasn’t from a murder scene, but instead the shrill, happy laughter of a ticklish teenager. He smiled and shook his head.

“Aw, buddy, what are they doing to you? Is the big, mean Falcon bullying you?”

Peter squirmed and squealed, knowing well there was no point in asking Hawkeye for help. Despite being a father, the master assassin was not very keen to pity, especially when it came to Spider-Man. He tended to lean towards the Sam and Strange side of the spectrum when it came to interacting with the younger hero. And from the smug grin plastered on his face as he watched Peter laugh helplessly, he assumed that wasn’t changing any time soon.

Nonetheless, groveling was pretty much his only option.

“Hehehehelp! Hehehehehelp me! Plehehehease!” Sam’s cruel, wiggly fingers never gave his ticklish tummy a break. “Ohoho my gahahahad! I can’t—I cahahahahan’t!”

“See? What did I tell yah? All he keeps saying is ‘I can’t do it’ and ‘it’s impossible!’ Even though he knows Nat and I both believe in him, he still doubts himself. Isn’t that heartbreaking?”

“Truly,” Clint agreed. To Peter’s horror, he felt a single fingertip start twitching against his left armpit. “Maybe he needs just a little more encouragement to give him that final push.”

“Maybe,” Sam concurred, smirking. Another finger found his right armpit, and Peter fell to pieces.

“Nonononohohohoho!” he pleaded piteously. “I can’t—I cahahan’t—I can’t!”

“Does Petey have ticklish underarms?” Clint teased, brushing his fingernails up and down the sensitive skin. Try as he might to guard himself, Peter was defenseless against the second layer of torment.

“Ahahahahaha!” he screeched. “Nohohohohahaha! Stahahahap!”

Clint smiled. “Hmm. I’d say he does.” He switched to digging all ten fingers into the hollows of each pit, the kid’s loud and giggly protests quickly teaching him which techniques were most effective and where his most ticklish spots were located. He knew applying his experience as an highly skilled interrogator to tormenting an innocent kid was a little harsh, but Peter’s laughter was so adorable and uplifting, all he wanted was to make more of it. One person tickling his vulnerable body was bad enough, but Peter was certain that two would kill him. Starting from wrists, Barton scuttled his fingers all the way down the teen’s arms, pausing just above his pits to build anticipation.

“Damn, you’re really making him squirm,” Sam chuckled, watching the poor kid crumble beneath Clint’s upper body attack. He continued to squeeze and pinch Peter’s sides and hips. The way he twitched from his every touch was amusing. “How are you going to survive as an Avenger if you can’t even take a little tickling, Pete? What if your nemeses find out your weakness and you spill all of our secrets to them?” He noticed Peter’s shirt had hiked up a little from his constant twisting and shifting, and a very evil idea popped into his head. He slipped his fingers underneath the material and started spidering his nails against his bare stomach. “One way or another, they always figure out how to get under your skin.”

Immediately, Peter’s laughter jumped three octaves and several decibels higher. “NOHOHOHOHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” He threw his head back and arched his spine against the table. “STOHOHAHAHAP! STAHAHAP IT!”

“Uh-oh,” Clint giggled. “You’re in for it now.”

Ten deadly fingertips moved freely over his tummy, exploring every inch of the soft, unbearably ticklish skin. They dragged up and down his sides, clawed at his midriff, and drew ruthless circles round and round his sensitive bellybutton. And all Peter could do was laugh and laugh, balling his hands into fists against the table.

“What does that feel like?” Sam asked him. “Like a bunch of itsy-bitsy spiders? Crawling all over the itsy-bitsy Spider-Man’s belly?”  

“PLEHEHEHEHEASE!” he cried. “NOHOHO MORE! NOHOHOHO MOHOHORE!”

“Hang on, I want to try something,” Clint said, taking his hands off his underarms for an instant. Sam’s fingers gave his tummy a moment’s break, and Peter thought he might faint from relief. “I always do this to Cooper whenever he’s being a little punk.”

Peter didn’t even register Barton moving from the head of the table to the middle. He was too busy relishing in the feeling of not having twenty fingers simultaneously digging into his most sensitive areas. He didn’t think there was any better feeling in the entire world.

“P-please, hehe…” he giggled weakly, fighting to catch his breath. “Just…just gimme a minute…”

Not even three seconds later, Clint lifted up Peter’s shirt, wrapped his hands around both sides of his torso, and blew the biggest, longest, most insufferable raspberry directly into the kid’s exposed belly. The sound that left Peter’s throat the moment Barton made contact was less like a laugh and more like a scream.

Natasha glanced at the kid and shook her head with a chuckle. “You guys are so mean.”

While kneading his fingers into his sides and hips, Clint assaulted the kid’s tummy with raspberry after merciless raspberry. Peter bucked and shrieked, whipping his head from side to side.

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA! AHAHAHAHAHAAA!”

After six in a row, Barton smiled down at the puddle of laughter that used to be Peter Parker. “What do you say? Are you motivated yet? You almost ready to break out of this thing?”

Peter had hoped after so much tickling his body would start to get used to it, but no. It seemed as time went on, his skin only became more sensitive to every poke and touch that came his way. Which meant with each passing minute, the increasing intensity of the tickling was driving him that much crazier. This was not at all how he’d expected his weekend with the Avengers to go. He cringed beneath the fingers scratching and stroking his defenseless tummy, bubbling with laughter.

“What’s the matter? I’m just giving you a belly rub. Like you’re a puppy. A teeny-tiny spider-puppy. I thought puppy’s loved getting belly rubs. Don’t they?”

He scribbled his nails up and down his entire midsection. While Clint was busy teasing his tummy, Peter felt someone pull both of his shoes off.

“Maybe we need to try something new,” Sam suggested. “Maybe we need to give his arms and his legs a compelling reason to get out.”

“WAHAHAHAIT!” Peter squealed, but it was no use. Sam held his foot still with one hand and started tickling it with the other, skittering his fingers along the sides tracing the arch from ball to heel. Peter tried so hard to kick himself free. The vibranium restraints were too strong.

“I feel like most people are just ticklish in some places,” Sam chuckled, watching the kid twist and twitch and giggle as he viciously strummed his nails against the center of his foot, as if he were playing a guitar. “But you, my friend, are ticklish all over. I think there’s something biological at work there. Maybe you should see a doctor.” He peeled back Peter’s scrunched-up toes and started worming his fingers between every single one, making sure no piggies were left out of the tickle attack. Once he’d finished tormenting that foot, he switched to the other one, starting the entire cruel process all over again.

“I’M GOHOHOHONNA DIHIHIHIHIHIE!” he cried shrilly. “P-PLEHEHEHEHEASE STOHOHAHAHAHAHOP!”

“Who’s going to die?” Steve Rogers asked. He and Rhodes descended the stairs into view. They’re faces were clouded with concern.

“Peter,” Natasha said, pointing. “They’re tickling him to death.”

Cap glanced at the laughing, beat-red kid sprawled across the table. Sam and Clint were teamed up on the helpless teen, kneading his sides and tickling his feet. Steve pulled his phone from his belt and frowned.

“Then why did you text us ‘come 2 basement if u need a pick-me-up’?”

Natasha smiled and shrugged. “Because his laughter is probably the most contagious thing in the entire world.”

A moment later, Tony Stark appeared behind them, standing on his tip-toes to see over Cap’s shoulder. “What pick-me-up, Romanoff? Did my tanning bed finally come in?”

Sam winced. “Uh-oh. Daddy’s here.”

Steve stepped to the side to let him pass, masking a smile. “I think they’re bullying your kid, Stark.”

Tony glanced across the lab and spotted Peter between Barton and Sam. The sound of wild, high-pitched laughter met his ears.

Once he realized his only potential savior was in the room, Peter abandoned any dignity he had left. “M-MIHIHISTER—AHAHAHAHAHA!” the teen screeched. “MR. STAHAHARK, HELP!”

Tony jogged to his side, and Sam and Clint stopped tickling him, sharing a nervous look. He stared down at his poor little mentee, strapped to a table like an asylum patient, red as a tomato, panting and wheezing and giggling all at the same time. He looked so small and exhausted and desperate, like he’d do anything to be free. Stark felt pity swell in his chest for the hapless teen. But in a way, the kid also appeared…happy. He knew it was artificial, that it was a happiness being completely forced upon him. And yet, ever since Peter had returned to the world after disintegrating into dust in his arms, the smile that normally occupied his face at all hours of the day had become noticeably absent. He was quieter, more distant, less excitable. After everything he’d gone through, it was a lot harder to make the kid laugh.

Tony lifted his gaze to the group of people in the lab, honing in on Sam and Clint. A deep wrinkle formed between his eyebrows. He looked like a dad about to scold his children for picking on their little brother. Everyone waited to see how he would retaliate.

“Come on, guys. Seriously?” He traced his glare across every face in the room. Even Cap felt guilty for some reason. Then, slowly, a smile pulled at the corner of his lip. “If you really want to make the kid laugh, you’ve got to go for his ribs.”

Everybody blinked in astonishment. Peter’s relief reeled.

“W-what?” Mr. Stark?” His mentor looked down at him apologetically.

“Sorry, Pete,” he said, giving his hair a ruffle. Then he locked his fingers around his ribcage.

Tony understood that Spider-Man was a strong and nimble individual who had the ability to detect attacks before they even happened. His skill set made it difficult to ever catch him by surprise, including the occasional times Tony had tried to poke or pinch his sides to help ease the constant tension he carried in his shoulders. Despite the kid’s happy-go-lucky facade, Peter was an incredibly anxious person, and sometimes needed to be reminded to relax a little, especially in the presence of his fellow Avengers. But Stark rarely succeeded in loosening his nerves, and he’d never had the chance to make him fully, authentically laugh before.

But right now, Peter was trapped, and he had an aunt who loved to share embarrassing facts about her nephew. This was an opportunity too rare and wonderful to pass up.

So the genius billionaire started drilling his fingers into the kid’s ribs. The response was immediate and hysterical. He watched Peter’s face shift from shock to betrayal to denial to defeat in the span of two seconds. For the first few moments, he laughed like crazy, squirming and shrieking as Stark switched between tickling every rib and grinding his knuckles into his entire ribcage. His adorable, uncontrollable giggling filled Tony with endearment. But then, the laughter suddenly stopped. The kid fell completely silent. Stark thought for an instant that he’d hurt him or something, until he heard the new sound he was making.

Squeaky, violent hiccups began to leap from his throat and shake his whole frame. They punctured the silence sporadically and made his body jump against the table. During the spaces in between, he just lied there, laughing so hard he couldn’t make a sound. His eyes were scrunched shut and his mouth was wide open, smiling the biggest smile in the entire world. But the only sounds escaping him were hiccups.  

He couldn’t believe how much it tickled. He couldn’t believe Mr. Stark, his hero and idol, was the person tickling him to tears. He’d be burning with embarrassment were he not so busy laughing to death. By that point, Peter figured, yep, this is it. Things can’t possibly get any worse than this. Then two more sets of hands descended on him, one on his feet and the other on his neck. Clint and Sam were back with a vengeance, and they didn’t hesitate in picking up where they’d left off. Before collapsing into a mess of hiccups again, Peter managed to squeal out one short word.

“SHIHIHIHIHEHEHEHAHAHEHEHIHIT!”

They only tickled him that way for about thirty seconds, but it felt like an eternity. Tony was the one who finally put an end to it, certain that any more would make the kid burst. Even after all thirty fingers had lifted from his sensitive skin, Peter continued to laugh. Natasha clicked the release button, and the cuffs fell from his wrists and ankles, shrinking back into beads. Immediately, Peter curled into a ball, hugging himself around the middle and pulling his knees to his chest. Tony placed a sympathetic hand on his arm.

“I’m sorry, kiddo. I know that was mean. We’ll find a way to make it up to you. Want to get some ice cream?”

To his surprise, Peter was still giggling. His shoulders bounced as airy laughs sputtered from his lips. Stark smiled bemusedly.

“Kid? Are you okay? Look, no one’s gonna get you anymore. I promise.”

His reassurance did nothing to stem the continuos stream of giggles flooding from the teenager. He didn’t seem able to stop.

“I think you guys broke him,” Natasha said. Tony pulled Spider-Man to the edge of the table and tried to make him sit up.

“Peter, it’s all right,” he chuckled amusedly, holding him upright and rubbing his shoulders. It was like he was under an unbreakable laughing spell. “Come on now. Can you really not stop?”

The kid’s weight tipped forward, and he staggered off the table. Stark flinched and caught him with a start. Peter slumped against his chest, giggling into his shirt.

“I c-can’t breathe, hehehe…” he laughed weakly. “Please. My sides. Ohoho my gosh…”

Tony patted him awkwardly on the back. The others watched with small smiles.

“You’re fine, kid,” Sam snorted, giving his head an affectionate nudge as he walked by. “You definitely needed that laugh.”

“That has to be the happiest you’ve been in months,” Clint agreed, trailing behind him and tousling Peter’s hair. They both left via the stairs, satisfied with their work.

“We’ll be in the lounge,” Natasha said. The rest of the Avengers followed her. The sound of footsteps clomping upwards eventually faded. The room would have been left relatively quiet, were it not for Peter’s continuous giggling.

“Can you walk?” Tony asked, relaxing a little now that there weren’t so many eyes around. He held the kid with both hands against his back. Peter laughed softly, leaning into his embrace without answering. Stark sighed and smiled. “All right then. Up you go.”

Swiftly, Tony scooped the teenager off the floor and into his arms. Peter was too worn out to protest, too worn out to care. He wheezed tiny giggles into his mentor’s shoulder as he carried him into the elevator and up to the room Mr. Stark had intended to be his Avengers living quarters. Tony walked him inside and pulled back the sheets, then gently laid the kid into the bed. As soon as his head hit the pillow and the blankets were tucked around him, Peter’s laugh attack began to subside, even though his skin still tingled all over. His eyelids grew heavy, and exhaustion seized him full force.

“I know you probably hate all of us for that,” Tony chuckled, watching the kid practically melt with fatigue. “But Clint was right. I think that was the happiest I’ve seen you in a long time.”

He pulled the sheets up to the kid’s chin, then walked out of the room, leaving the door cracked just a hair. Spider-Man succumbed to sleep in minutes, his breathing finally steadying out.

Although he would never admit it, Peter knew it was true. In a convoluted sort of way, he was happy. The walls he’d built up based on the fear and trauma he’d went through suddenly felt destabilized, like reclaiming his old, lighthearted self wasn’t so impossible after all. He knew a long road of healing still lied ahead, and he hoped there were other ways he could go about breaking down the barriers he’d built up. But for now, in the quiet of his heart, he was happy. And it was a happiness he hadn’t experience in a very long while.

[spooky-ghostwriter]

Dressed to Kill - Chapter Thirteen

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Tsukiko pulled her cell phone off the small bedside table it sat upon. She pushed a button, blinding herself with the screen's backlight for an instant in exchange for information.

'2:11am', it read.

Tsukiko tossed the phone down and groaned. She covered herself with more blankets and rolled back into position.

Her room shook, jostling Tsukiko against the wall.

“God. Damn. It.” Tsukiko snarled.

She stood up and looked out the window. The road through which the circus convey was traveling could barely be considered one. She saw no pavement beneath her trailer's wheels; only a vague line in the dirt.

With each rotation of the wheels, her trailer rocked to and fro. She picked her fallen top hat up off the floor and hung it back on its hook.

In retrospect, having a mostly-empty trailer had its perks. The hat was the only disheveled item in her living space. She wondered if Galen, who had put a small television and video game console in his trailer, was having more troubles than her.

She flopped back onto the bed.

A tortuously long time later, for which Tsukiko was far more awake than she would have liked, the trailers stopped moving. Tsukiko heard the faint noises of the crew hooking up trailers to water pipes and other utilities.

“Magician Trailer One hooked up!” A male voice called to his associates.

Finally, Tsukiko said. She sauntered over to her trailer's tiny bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. Frustratingly obvious wrinkles surrounded her eyes. Deciding that washing her face might help, she put a cloth under the tap and cranked it.

No water came out.

“Oh, great,” Tsukiko muttered. She tapped the faucet. She was positive that it wouldn't help the matter but couldn't think of any better plan.

She heard more noises outside; the ratcheting and whirring of power tools was getting closer.

Tsukiko's faucet sputtered. Water sprayed out like a garden sprinkler. The sudden noise startled her, and she flinched, but not quickly enough to avoid a face full of water.

“Magician Trailer Two hooked up!” The male voice announced proudly.

Tsukiko wrung water out of her treasured blonde lock of hair.

Eventually, a tired and frustrated Tsukiko made her way to a line of picnic tables. Later that night, they would be used for visitors to relax, talk, and eat overpriced food between one show and the next. Now, the performers themselves were doing the same.

Tsukiko followed her nose to her favourite food stand. Instead of the loud gunfire of popping corn, she heard the satisfying sizzle of a grill. Tsukiko helped herself to a plate of enough scrambled eggs and bacon to feed a family of four, then found Galen in their usual spot.

“Good morning!” Galen said cheerfully.

Tsukiko answered by slamming her plate down across from him and scowling at her food.

“Bad morning?” Galen corrected.

“I'm starting to miss having a room that stays still all night,” Tsukiko grumbled. “And, for that matter, having a bathroom that works whenever I want.”

“Was the ride that bumpy last night?” Galen asked. “I didn't really notice anything.”

Tsukiko gave him a look. Galen decided that eating was the safest course of action.

“Speaking of,” Tsukiko said after a few bites, “You're officially a stagehand-slash-assistant, right? You're not officially a stage magician?”

“Right,” Galen said. “My trailer has a wrench painted on the door. You get the cool top hat and wand symbol.”

“It is pretty cool,” Tsukiko said to herself. Then she shook her head and focused. “So I'm the only stage magician here.”

“Yup.”

“And yet I'm in Magician Trailer Two. So what is in Magician Trailer One that needs water and utilities hooked up to it before mine?” Tsukiko demanded. “I heard your co-crewmen talking about it.”

“They're not my co-crewmen. I don't do the night shift. I don't know any of the guys who do the driving and trailer work,” Galen said. After a bite of bacon, he added, “It does seem weird, though, I agree.”

“It's probably where Vercingetorix stores the Religalia, isn't it?” Tsukiko guessed. “That trailer had the same top hat symbol that mine did.”

“Probably,” Galen said with a nod. “If that's the case, it shouldn't need utilities. You should ask Vercingetorix what the deal is.”

“I dunno. I still feel bad about whining about Stiletto.”

“You were standing up for me. I appreciate the whining.”

“Well, Vercingetorix has a circus and a war to manage,” Tsukiko said. “I don't mind interrupting if I think it's really important, but for this? Nah.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“What makes you think I'm going to do something?”

Galen almost laughed.

“What, you're going to ignore a mystery?” Galen asked. “You? The girl who saw Amazio's second-best card trick on the Internet and didn't sleep for a week trying to figure out how it worked?”

“Man, what happened to me?” Tsukiko wondered. “Now I can't even deal with one day with a bad night's sleep.”

“So, what are you going to do? And stop trying to dodge the question.”

“Fine. You're right. I'll do whatever it takes,” said Tsukiko. “I will scour the entire circus grounds until I find Magician Trailer One. I will leave no stone unturned, no tent unentered. I will brave the lions and the serpents and whatever else stands between me and this mystery. I will not eat, sleep, or have knives thrown at me until I find it.”

“Here it is,” said Tsukiko, a few minutes after breakfast.

Tsukiko and Galen stood outside a trailer that looked, in every sense, identical to Tsukiko's own. Galen would have believed that Tsukiko led him to her own trailer, if it weren't for the fact that Magician Trailer Two was visible only a couple feet away.

Galen knocked on the door. There was no response.

He tried the door handle. It was locked.

“If someone does use this trailer, they must be eating breakfast,” Galen said. “Well, we're out of luck.”

“Yeah, if you're a quitter!” Tsukiko said. She fished two bobby pins from her jeans' pockets.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah! Stand guard for me,” said Tsukiko. She crouched down, focusing intently on the lock. “If I can do handcuffs, I'm sure I can do a simple door.”

“This is stupid,” Galen muttered, but did as she asked. “What are we even hoping to find? The most likely option here is that someone has a Magician Trailer even though they're not technically a magician, and then you've broken into someone's trailer.”

“All I want to prove is that this is someone's trailer,” said Tsukiko. “If it looks like it's just an old, unused trailer, then – aha!”

The lock clicked.

“It's actually kind of scary,” Tsukiko said idly. “Doors are harder to break than handcuffs are.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Galen said. “Now just hurry up, find whatever you're looking for, and let's leave the place exactly like it was.”

Tsukiko took her first step into the trailer. The first thing she noticed was a huge cloud of dust in the spot she expected to find breathable air. She coughed and eventually hid her mouth behind her hands.

“No one lives here!” Tsukiko decided immediately. “No one could live here.”

“You're sure?” Galen asked from outside. “If that's true, there's no sense hooking up utilities every day. I'll talk to Vercy about it.”

Tsukiko looked around the trailer. It contained the bed and mini-fridge in the same standard arrangement her own had had. Aside from that, it could not have looked less like Tsukiko's own sparsely-decorated trailer. There were more shelves in the room than Tsukiko would have believed could fit, each full to bursting of assorted stage magic-related props. Posters and pictures covered the walls. At a glance, they appeared to be about stage magic as the insignia promised.

Each of the posters depicted a gorgeous, blonde woman. In the first, she wore a billowing white suit jacket and held a calm pigeon in each hand. In the second, she was in the middle of a segmented woman trick, with a handsome male assistant pushing the middle third of her body away from the rest of herself.

It was the third that caught Tsukiko's attention. The same woman stood straight and tall, saluting the viewer. She was not wearing the white suit that Tsukiko assumed was her normal costume. Instead, she wore a camouflage-patterned tank top, with gold epaulets over her shoulders and the same green peaked cap that Tsukiko now had sitting on her nightstand.

“She has the Religalia!” Tsukiko blurted.

“Who?” Galen asked, still outside and unable to see the pictures. “I don't have any context to know who the 'she' is!”

“Freya. It's Freya's trailer!” Tsukiko snapped her fingers. “Alesia's old stage magician. Remember? We saw her on the website.”

“Didn't she leave the circus?” Galen asked. “Why does she still have a trailer?”

“I don't know,” Tsukiko said. “But there could be something related to the Religalia in here! If I could find a diary or journal – ”

“Whoa, let her have some privacy.”

“If I ever meet her, I'll apologize.” Tsukiko rolled her eyes. She turned back towards the door. A shadowy figure loomed back at her. Tsukiko flinched, preparing to have to explain to a person why she was in the trailer, but what she saw was not human.

Nor was it alive. What had startled her was a robe, stretched over a cross-shaped rack. The thing looked like a ghost. The robe was pitch-black with a diamond-shaped, reaper-like hood. It was a long garment. The top of the mannequin was a little taller than Tsukiko, and the hem of the robe barely touched the floor. Its sleeves were just as long; they likely would have gone down to Tsukiko's fingertips.

“What is this?” Tsukiko asked herself.

She touched the robe. It was torn; there was a wide hole a few inches down from the bottom of the hood. Beneath the robe's fabric, Tsukiko saw something glimmer.

Wires.

A sheet of thin, uncountable wires were wedged together within the cloak. Tsukiko recognized them immediately.

“Galen!” She hissed. “There's another Religalia in here!”

“What?!” Galen demanded. “What is it?”

“It's creepy, is what it is,” Tsukiko said, more to herself than to Galen. Then, remembering him, she raised her voice and added, “It's like a grim reaper cloak.”

“What does it do?” Galen asked.

“How would I know?” Tsukiko retorted. “Knowing the rest of them, it's probably a pun. Think of some puns.”

“If it's a cloak, maybe it turns you invisible!” Galen guessed.

That would make sense, Tsukiko admitted mentally. But then – why wouldn't Vercingetorix tell us about this?

The longer Tsukiko looked at the thing, the more she realized that mere invisibility wasn't enough of a power for this. The shadows underneath the robe's hood were the darkest blackness she'd ever witnessed. The robe had a presence of its own; it was a feeling Tsukiko wouldn't know how to describe later, but it felt like she was staring at death itself.

Meanwhile, outside the trailer, Galen was fighting his own curiosity. He still wasn't convinced that going into the trailer was a good idea, but Tsukiko's mumbling made him want to see this supposed seventh Religalia for himself. Besides, it was only recently that he'd assured himself that he and Tsukiko were still equals.

All right, He decided. Let's see this.

He gave a quick glance to his surroundings and immediately changed his mind.

“Hey, Tsuki!” Galen hissed. “Vercingetorix is coming!”

“Crap!” Tsukiko muttered. “Is he looking this way?”

“Yeah!”

Tsukiko looked around the trailer. The door, she decided, was clearly not an option. The window was at an angle where a person climbing through it may have still been visible to Vercingetorix, and for that matter, looked too small for her to squeeze through anyway.

Mom was right. I should've done yoga.

Tsukiko made her choice out of the limited options she had. She crouched under the hem of the cloak. She stood up on the rack's feet and stuck her arms through the sleeves. She was backwards, and it was intentional – she hoped that her black hair would be enough to hide her head.

This was not an ideal solution. It was already a little uncomfortable, with her arms outstretched and her perch on the stand being precarious at best. Still, she heard Vercingetorix's and Galen's voices, and knew she had no time to change her mind.

“Galen?” Vercingetorix asked, approaching the trailer. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, uh – ” Galen looked back at the trailer, and the top hat marking on its door. “Just looking for Tsukiko.”

“Ah, of course. I understand the confusion.” Vercingetorix tapped the door with his finger. “This is actually Magician's Trailer One. Tsukiko's is over there.” He gestured in a vague direction.

“Oh, my bad.”

Vercingetorix opened his ever-present metal briefcase and pulled out some sheets of paper.

“Here is this week's crew schedule,” He said, handing a paper to Galen. “I've kept you off duty on Wednesday. We'll be trying your and Tsukiko's show on Stage 1 this week, so I want you to spend that day preparing.”

“Great! That's the big stage, right?”

“Yes. You'll have more space, so feel free to perform whatever flashy tricks you need to in order to use the whole stage. There will also be more audience members, but try not to let that stress you out.”

“That won't be a problem. Tsuki's been asking about performing on the big stage for a while now.”

You know, Tsukiko thought. When I woke up this morning, I didn't think I'd be stuck in a grim reaper costume in a dark, dusty trailer listening to people talk about me.

“Cold blood.”

Tsukiko was shaken from her thoughts. She must not have been listening to the conversation outside as closely as she'd thought. The context of 'cold blood' was completely lost on her, and she hadn't even been able to tell which one of them had said it.

“Cold steel.”

It happened again. This time, she understood why the voice had interrupted her thoughts so piercingly – it did not belong to either Vercingetorix or Galen. This voice felt like it was directly beside her ear, though in such a hushed whisper that it had felt just as quiet as the conversation. Besides, though it was hard to tell from a mere whisper, the voice sounded feminine.

“What did you say?” Tsukiko asked, keeping her voice so low that she barely said anything at all.

“Cold blood,” replied the voice, whispering in her left ear. “Cold steel.”

“What do you mean?” Tsukiko asked, again in a barely-existent volume. Realizing a much more pressing question, she added, “Who are you?”

“Cold. Blood. Cold. Steel.”

This was all that the voice said. It repeated the words in that same hushed whisper, over and over. The repetitions grew louder, though still a whisper and still limited to her left ear. Tsukiko immediately regretted asking the voice anything at all. She shut her eyes tight, even though she hadn't been able to see anything through the back of the robe's hood anyway, and tried to focus on Galen and Vercingetorix to see if it was safe for her to leave her complete mistake of a hiding place.

Suddenly, the whispers stopped; drowned out by the sound of the trailer door opening. Tsukiko forced herself to stay still just a little longer as Vercingetorix stepped into the room. She heard a few footsteps behind her, but couldn't tell the direction he was walking.

“Galen,” Vercingetorix said.

“Yes?” Galen's voice replied.

“If you see Jeffery today, let him know that this trailer needs a new lock. I'm positive I locked it properly before.”

“Will do.”

The door closed. Tsukiko stayed still for a few more moments. Her eyes and fists were clenched shut, and she pleaded with every fiber of her being that the whispers wouldn't start up again.

“Tsuki!” Galen said. “He's gone. Let's go.”

Tsukiko breathed an enormous sigh of relief. She let herself drop out of the robe and its stand and got out of the trailer as quickly as she possibly could. She doubted words could have expressed how excited she was to take a step outside of that trailer.

“Good hiding spot?” Galen asked, closing the door behind them.

“The worst, actually.”

They began walking; Tsukiko had picked a random direction that was away from the trailer, and Galen had simply followed her.

“You look pale,” Galen said. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” Tsukiko decided. “Hey, have you ever heard the phrase 'cold blood, cold steel'?”

“Uh... no. I haven't.”

“I didn't think so. It was worth a try.” Tsukiko said.

Galen was naturally curious as to why Tsukiko had brought it up, but she was so oddly quiet as they walked that Galen decided not to ask. Before the trailer disappeared out of view, Galen gave it one last look. He wondering just what had happened to Tsukiko behind that door.

[belletristbooks]

WINNING ENTRY

"This ending literally brought me to tears. It felt to me like the writer deeply understood Lucy and how she thinks and acts, and stylistically this piece made me feel like I was reading an epilogue that flowed seamlessly from the end of the book. I was really impressed with the writing, and loved how the author brought back the kaleidoscope from The Light We Lost and echoed lines and thoughts that existed in The Light We Lost. The interactions between the kids and between Lucy and the kids felt so real to me, too. I really, really loved this one." - The Light We Lost author, Jill Santopolo.

"Bench" by: Kelsey Winter @Kwinter916

Sometimes objects seem like they’ve witnessed history. The park bench I’m sitting on is covered in different color ink. Blue smiley faces, Green and pink squiggly line, but most importantly names paired together with a heart surrounding them. Past lovers have spent their time holding hands on this bench, piling legs on top of laps, sneaking kisses when no one is looking. They loved each other so much they solidified it by drawing their names for everyone to see. This bench has seen so much.

“Momma!” I peel my eyes from the seat of the bench. “Robbie, you need to keep your hat on or you’ll lose it.” I say grabbing his blue beanie from his hand, and set it on his curly haired-head.

“Momma, Liam took my kaleidoscope.”

“Liam,” I say in a mother tone that took many years to perfect. He’s standing far away with his arms crossed, but he rolls his eyes and groans. He runs over to us, his face in a grimace. “You know it’s not nice to take things.”

“Sorry.” He plops the kaleidoscope in Robbie’s hands and runs back to the jungle gym that is crawling with other kids. “Hey buddy,” I grab Robbie’s wrist before he can chase after his brother. “Why don’t you let me hold onto that so you don’t lose it.” “But…” His lip quivers.

“I promise to keep it safe.” I smile at him, and he smiles right back. His dimple appears in the same spot it always did. People always say that my kids look just like me, but only I can see that Robbie is an exact replica of you, Gabe. You would have loved standing next to him. Seeing his face light up with his words just like yours. How he takes a moment to process things, before reevaluating the situation. The way his curls flop in his eyes when he runs. He is you. I let go of his hand, and he is quick to get to the other kids. I rotate the kaleidoscope in my hands and let my eyes close for just a brief moment.

There I was twenty-three, crisscrossed in our living room surrounded by photographs of you and your mother. Your smile illuminating the room, your laugh filling my ears, your dimple so prominent. You were my binary star then, and just like that you were gone. That night in the living room with the kaleidoscope photos is a memory I can easily slip back into. Are you in heaven lying on your back with your mom staring at the different colors strung from the sky? Is there a heaven Gabe? I’d like to think that’s where you are. I try to think of a different memory every day. I conjure every detail: what you were wearing, how you smelled, your hair wet, my wrinkled shirt. Anything to keep you alive in my memory. But years have passed, and I’ve run out of memories for us. It doesn’t feel fair to make up new ones. Made up memories leave me disappointed, so I stick with real ones.

I open my eyes to see my kids playing together. One of them binds me to you forever, and that idea makes me smile. We’re tethered together, can you feel it still Gabe? Robbie was my road less travelled. You were the road I wish I travelled.

Darren didn’t understand me in that way. Darren still doesn’t see me as more than a mother. I wrote an episode for It Takes A Galaxy a year after you were gone. It’s about losing a loved one. Darren didn’t think I should be introducing death so early to kids, but he doesn’t understand losing someone is just as confusing to adults as it is to children. I’m still confused by it, Gabe. Darren doesn’t know about Robbie, but there are moments when I drop the kids at his apartment, and he will watch Robbie with careful eyes. I didn’t tell him, but I’m scared that deep down he senses it. I loved Darren, there will always be a part of me that does. But you opened something inside me that last day we spent spiraled together. I pushed the feelings away for the first three years of Robbie’s life. The more he grew, the more you shined through him. Now, my kids are enough for me. I am enough for me.

I dig through my bag and find a black Sharpie that was hidden under old receipts and straw wrappers. I rest the kaleidoscope in my lap, and pull off the cap from the marker. Sometimes I find myself waiting for my phone to light up with your name on the screen, or for one of your pictures to appear in the New York Times. It’s ridiculous isn’t it. I draw a heart where the seat of the bench meets the back rest. I write a curly “LC” on one side and next to that I write a “GS.” This bench doesn’t seem complete unless it has the story of Lucy and Gabe. Here lies our history, our story, your legacy. I put the cap back on the marker and throw it in my bag. I stare at our initials. After all these years, your initials still look right next to mine.

“Kids!” I call out and the three of them come running. I scan each to make sure they have everything. They are huffing from running across the playground. My eyes stop on Robbie. His nose is running a bit, but his smile is there, just like always. “Let’s go home,” I say. Sometimes I catch myself staring at Robbie for a moment too long. I remember us sometimes so hard, that I feel myself crumbling. I’m there, with you, your finger traced my bottom lip, while your other one was lost in my hair. But when I come out of my mind, and I always do, I see my kids and their smiling faces. I see me and I see you, and I can keep going.

RUNNER UP

"It was so cool to see Lucy and Gabe's son come to life as a college student, the exact same age that Lucy and Gabe were when they met. And as I read this one, I could imagine a child who combined the essence of Lucy and Gabe and then added his own twist to the mix becoming a screenwriter and going to UCLA and thinking and speaking exactly the way he did. I also loved seeing that Kate and Lucy still maintained their close relationship, that Lucy's kids had found love--and Darren had, too. Stylistically, I liked how the author used the back-and-forth, sliding-into-memories aspect of The Light We Lost as the structure for this piece, along with the plot echo of loved ones flying long distance to be at someone's bedside. I like how the author used Lucy as the "you" in this one, too, almost as a response to the final chapter of the book where Lucy uses her unborn child as the "you." - The Light We Lost author, Jill Santopolo.

"What You Never Said" by: Bethany Sampson @sampsonbee

Violet was the one who called me. She was on the phone, quietly breathing, crying. It was weird, because we usually can’t get her to stop talking, but with the exception of her sniffling, she was silent. And I knew, I just knew, it was you. I didn’t make Violet say it. I don’t even think Violet could’ve made herself say it. Kate beeped in, and I told Violet I’d be there as soon as I could, and then I switched over. Maggie was beside me, all wide, glassy eyes and bitten lips and destroyed fingernails, and so I went into the bathroom to talk to Kate, shutting the door tight behind me. I guess I was expecting Kate to tell me about you, to fill in the spaces Violet had left blank. Instead, she told me about him. The phone call from Violet had fucked up my night—my brain—in all sorts of ways, but it was the news from Kate that really did me in. Kate said you’d always planned to tell me when I turned eighteen, but then I chose UCLA, and she said you were afraid this would make me never come home again. But I know, Mom. And I’m still here.

I took the Red-Eye, but I couldn’t sleep. Maggie was curled up beside me, and maybe normally I would’ve cared that she was squeezing my hand to a point of near-breakage, but instead it kept me from feeling like I could float away completely. I was going to read, was going to do something other than think about you and think about him, but I couldn’t be the asshole using his overhead light, illuminating an otherwise dark plane. So I took out my laptop, and even though I meant to open up my script, to incorporate my professor’s latest feedback into the story—I think you’d really like this one—I opened up Google instead, typing each letter of his name until a series of photos appeared. I had to scroll through a lot, you know, until I found one of him, instead of just taken by him. I had to scroll past photos of a younger you and a broken world and a more hopeful tomorrow that’s only now coming. And then there he was. It sort of freaked me out a bit. Because I look like him. Everyone’s always said I look like you, I guess because I never looked like Dad. (Should I be calling him Darren now? It feels too strange to call him Darren now.) I want to be mad at you, but all I could think—all I can think—is how it must break your heart every time you look at me and see him.

Maggie is freaking out a little. No. She’s freaking out a lot, which I guess is only a little more than usual. If there’s no other reason to come back, Mom, please let it be for Maggie. I mean, God, not that you need or even want to know this right now—or ever, I guess—but we were about to have sex for the first time—and I mean really JUST about—when Violet called. Maggie read this article that said couples who wait sixty days to have sex are like a million percent more likely to stay together. It was just after one on Day Sixty when Violet called. It'd only been just after midnight when Maggie had shown up at my door. Gorgeous and nervous, though strangely a lot less nervous than usual. And when she kissed me, it was like I was the thing in life she was most certain about. I want you to know her, Mom. So you can see we’re both in this. Even when it’s hard. Even when it’s work. It’s weird, because when Maggie was little, she used to have this imaginary friend named Gabe. And I know it’s just a coincidence, but you can’t be three months away from an undergraduate degree in film, and still believe that coincidences are just coincidences. In the movies, everything is fate. She had this weird life. Maggie, I mean. Or not weird, I guess. But hard. And not like love hard. But really hard. Shitty parents, mostly. And eventually she was adopted by the super not-shitty Greg and Leanne—you’d like them—but back then, she was alone. Had too many thoughts and no one to share them with. So, she imagined a boy named Gabe, and he listened to her problems, and he made her feel less alone. We were babysitting her foster sister, Riley, this past winter, and a nativity movie was playing idly in the background. When the angel, Gabriel, appeared, Maggie told me about her Gabe. Do you remember the Christmas after I transferred to St. Jude’s Prep, Mom? I was cast as Gabriel in the Christmas pageant. You got all weird, saying I should’ve stuck with secular public schools, and when you brought it up to Dad, he got all mad, told you he knew what this was really about. I didn’t get it. I was only seven, and what was wrong with angels? But I guess I get it now—your Gabe was also an angel. I told this story to Maggie that night. We were still only just friends, but already I wanted her to know everything. I told her how that day felt like the beginning of the end, how you and Dad were separated by the next Christmas, divorced by the one after that. I don’t talk about the divorce a lot. Not even with Violet and Liam. I guess because if I talked about it, I’d have to ask why it always seemed like Dad liked me less, resented me most. I guess, spoiler alert, because I wasn’t his. But he pretended I was, and you pretended I was, and I’m not sure I really get it. Maybe before you divorced it made sense to keep it a secret, but afterward? Unless you did it for me. Unless you both did it for me. Because you wanted me to have a dad? Because you didn’t want me to be left out from trips to Disney World with Liam and Violet, or miss out on the second Christmas at Dad and Ella’s, or summers spent in the Hamptons? And I’m grateful. I really am. But I guess, also, I still did feel left out. Like I never quite fit in. Because even if you pretended, even if Dad pretended, it was still always just a game of pretend. And it would’ve been nice to know why.

We’re all here now. Liam and Ryan, Violet and Annie Junior the Third. Have you met New Annie yet? She’s still in that yappy puppy stage, but she’s so fucking cute that I know when we get back to LA, Maggie’s going to try and con me into a trip to the animal shelter. And honestly, it probably won’t even require all that much conning. You’ve met Ryan though, right? Liam is so upside-down-in-love, I keep forgetting that they haven’t actually been together forever. But it’s nice. To see Liam this way. Happy. Even Dad and Ella are here. Their hands clasped together tightly, like they’re knotted in a joint prayer.

I started sobbing, somewhere between LA and NYC, twenty-thousand feet above the world. Maggie’s eyes stayed closed, but she squeezed me tighter, and it just kept hitting me—overoverover and over again—that you might be gone. That you soon could be gone. When I finally calmed down a bit, I went back online and found this site dedicated to Gabe’s photos, and I started scrolling through them. They were beautiful. Really fucking beautiful. And the thing that makes me most sad about all of this is that he never got the chance to see that things got a bit better. I mean, they got worse, too. But now they’re finally getter better. There’s hope. Real, visceral hope. And he could’ve documented the hell out of it. Do you remember that script I wrote freshman year? The shitty one about the werewolf? I keep thinking of that screenplay. How, beside my shit grade, my professor wrote, “Never lose your feverish hopefulness.” I don’t know. I was offended at the time, thinking I’d written an Oscar-worthy screenplay, and he was essentially calling me naïve. But I saw that photo of you, the one Gabe took of you asleep on the couch, still hugging your laptop and a script. I saw that, and I got it.

Wanting things, being hopeful for them, maybe even being a bit naïve—it’s not a bad thing. In fact, it kind of feels like the only thing.

We’re all here, in this too white, too bright, room. And we’re surrounding you, squeezing hands together, whispering prayers, finally all fitting in together. And we’re holding onto something, Mom. It’s hope, and light. And it’s you.

[peopleandrhythm]

Deleted Scene: “What a Wicked Thing”

Characters: Hope Mikaelson, River Monroe Time: Approximately one year before 1x01 Location: Tallahassee, Florida

Dressed in an old pair of jeans and a brand new, stiff T-shirt—bright red with a slice of pizza on the breast pocket—Hope approaches her new workplace, her ponytail slipped through her black baseball cap. Her car is lost in the sprawling parking lot of the strip mall, where the pizzeria is wedged between a pool supply store and an abandoned K-Mart. She takes a deep breath as she walks up to the glass door, lets it go, and enters.

The restaurant is small, with room enough only for six tables and a short counter. There’s a cutout in the wall behind the counter, and a slice of pepperoni pizza sits on the ledge. The place is a ghost town, save for the tall, reedy person standing behind the counter. Hope watches as they pull a circle of pepperoni off of the slice and pop it into their mouth. Their eyes widen as they realize they’re being watched. “Oh shit!” They swallow quickly. “Hey, welcome to—” They notice her shirt, and drop their overly-friendly tone. “Oh, you’re the new girl.” They turn, lean through the window into the kitchen, and yell, “YO RIVER! NEW GIRL!”

The person steps out from behind the counter, revealing a shirt covered in flour, throws up a peace sign to a startled Hope, and disappears through a swinging door. The door immediately swings back, and a young girl with light brown skin and long, curly hair enters, smiling. “Hey! Sorry about that.” She walks up to Hope, who’s still hovering by the door, and extends her hand. “I’m River.”

Hope stares for a moment, mouth slightly ajar, before shaking her head and grabbing River’s hand. “Hope,” she introduces herself. She can barely put together a coherent though; this girl is cute.

Once the handshake is over, River turns, beckoning Hope to follow her. “I hope Rowan didn’t put you off,” she calls over her shoulder. “They’re not a huge fan of talking.” She stops when they’re both behind the counter. “So, let me start by saying that you are saving our asses. Our last guy got arrested for selling MDMA to his law professor.” She snorts. “That’s Tallanasty for ya.”

Hope laughs. “Yeah, well, I’ll try to keep my flourishing drug enterprise on the DL.” River’s eyes narrow slightly, and Hope scrambles to clarify. “I’m totally kidding. I don’t sell drugs.”

“Good. Not that I’d care if you do, but I really don’t want to have to train someone else.” She picks an iPad up off of the counter, one long, thin crack marring its screen. “You’re going to be taking orders on here. You give each order a number, give that number to the customer—” She gestures to a small army of metal stands, each about a foot tall, holding numbers, lined up on a shelf below the counter top. “—and bring the right food to the right table when its ready. Pretty straightforward.”

“Yeah.” Hope’s barely listening, distracted by the way the lights of the neon ORDER HERE sign above their heads dance in River’s eyes. 

“I’ll give you a tour of the back a little later; Drew’s scrubbing the floors back there and I don’t want you slipping and dying on your first day.” She gives Hope a playful smile, and Hope’s heart skips a beat.

Giving herself a minute to clear her head, Hope looks out at the restaurant. Every chair is empty. “So...where is everyone?”

Laughing, River says, “Yeah, we’re dead. It’s still early, though. We don’t usually get busy until people start coming over from the pub three doors down.”

“Um. We’re teenagers.”

“Oh, we’re just here to hold down the fort until Thor gets here.”

Hope’s head turns slowly back to River. “Thor.”

“Yeah.”

“Like, Thor.”

“Well, his name is Connor, but he’s huge and blond and helps us keep the drunks from flipping over tables.”

“Ah.” They stand in silence for a while, Hope trying to seem cool around this holy-shit-cute girl. She’s got butterflies in her stomach, but she’s never been one to shy away from a challenge, so she strikes up a new conversation. “So, how old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“Oh cool, me too!”

River smiles. “Where do you go to school? Leon?”

“Oh, um.” Hope always forgets that small talk leads to explaining her weird life. “Actually, I do online school? My mom and I move around a lot, so I’ve been taking classes online, well, forever.”

Eyebrows raised, River says, “Wow, that’s actually super cool. At least you don’t have to deal with high school bullshit.”

Hope laughs. “True, but when you move around so much, it’s hard to form friendships, y’know?”

“Oh, true. Why do you move so much?”

Hope rattles off the lie she learned years ago. “My mom’s an independent researcher. We go from place to place, depending on what her research needs. So far we’ve been to forty-six states and three Canadian provinces—well, we went to Manitoba twice, and we also went to Nunavut, but that’s a territory—and we’ve gone down to Mexico a couple of times.”

River stares at Hope as if she has three heads. “That is...a lot. I was born in Georgia, but I’ve lived here almost my entire life. Since then, I’ve only left Florida twice, and both times we just went up into Georgia.”

Hope preens ever-so-slightly, glad she’s impressing her new coworker. “It gets lonely sometimes, but I’ve gotten to meet thousands of super cool, super interesting people in my life.”

“So if you’re mom’s a researcher, what does your dad do?”

Hope freezes. This is another lie she’s learned, but this one is infinitely more painful. “Um. He died.”

River’s eyes blow wide. “Holy shit. I am so sorry.”

“No, no, don’t worry about it.” He’s not actually dead, just a prisoner of a super vampire. “He died when I was two, so I’ve had time to adjust.”

“Oh.” Eager to move on, River says, “Well, my mom’s a teacher. Elementary. And my dad’s an adjunct at the university.”

“Seems like everyone here is connected to the university.”

River snorts. “You have no idea.”

“So do you live around here? This is...”

“College Town. Yeah, we live in Frenchtown, not too far from here.”

Hope’s face lights up. “Hey! That’s where we just moved in!” She pauses. “Maybe, you know, we could carpool when we have the same shifts. You know, save the planet and all that.”

“Oh. Um.” River shrugs. “I don’t actually have a car? I’m saving up to buy one.”

“Well I can drive!” Hope offers, perhaps too eagerly. “I don’t mind!”

River’s smile is one of genuine surprise. “Oh, well...yeah, I guess, if you don’t mind. I’ll definitely chip in for gas, though.”

Hope almost says, Don’t worry, I have a stupid amount of money, but catches herself. “Sure.”

The restaurant is still empty, and Hope’s starting to think that this job is going to involve a lot of standing around. River asks, “So, if you don’t go to school-school, what do you do for fun?”

What Hope doesn’t say: Magic. Studying grimoires. Hanging out with the family members we keep in coffins in our attic. Recently, talking to cute girls who work in pizza places. What Hope does say: “Oh, you know. Reading. The Internet. Reading on the Internet. I also like to paint.”

“Well painting’s neat! I love to run.” River’s face softens. “Running is...freedom. It’s strength. When I’m running, nothing can touch me.”

Hope stares at her like she’s the sun. “Wow.”

Wrinkling her nose, River says, “Sorry, I’m a dork.”

“No!” Hope’s protest is a touch too loud, so she says more calmly, “No, that’s not...you’re not a dork.”

“Well...thanks.” River’s skin colors a bit.

Through the glass door, the girls can see customers approaching. River motions for Hope to watch how she interacts with them, but before they come inside, Hope blurts out, “Do you want to catch a movie sometime?”

River looks confused. “A movie?”

“It’s just...I don’t know anyone here, and you seem, well, totally awesome, and, I don’t know.” The door opens and the customers, undergrads coming to carbo-load before a night of drinking, walk in. “I’d just like to hang out with you.”

Hope has no idea what she’s doing, no clue if this girl is even queer. She definitely don’t know how long her mother plans to keep them in this city. Still, when River quirks a little half-smile and says, “Sure,” Hope feels like she’s going to float up off of the ground and right into the moon.

[userlando]

Damsel in Distress (Grayson x Reader)

Summary: On your way home in the middle of the night from your best friend, Mia’s place, you end up getting followed by a stranger. You find a phone booth and in the middle of your panic and with shaky hands you attempt to dial Mia but end up calling a complete stranger, Grayson. Word Count: 2,193 Warnings: None, I think? A/N: I saw this prompt in a tumblr post and had to write it, hope you enjoy! :)

You didn’t mean to, you really didn’t mean to call the wrong number. But after having been swarmed with work and having no spare time to hang out with your friends, you just decided you’d had just about enough. So when Mia called you over for drinks and hinted at possibly ordering in, you just couldn’t turn the offer down. Especially if there was drinks involved. The night had gone well, Mia had already popped open a wine bottle by the time you arrived at her place, a few blocks from where you lived; and she had her phone in hand, ready to order. You had settled on Indian, eagerly sipping from your glass of wine as you had sat down on the couch, sighing at the softness of it. It had been so long since the last girl night in, and you couldn’t wait to relax.

You were a lightweight though, so after two glasses of wine, you found yourself a bit tipsy. Not completely drunk, but it had made your head a little floaty. And Mia was the same, giggling whenever Jimmy Fallon cracked a joke on the television, making fun of his sister while telling some story, while munching on crackers. You were too far gone in your head, full from the Indian food and the wine had made you soft and pliant, knowing that if Mia left you for five minutes, you’d definitely fall asleep. She had sent you off reluctantly, telling you over and over again that you could crash at her place. But you had work tomorrow so you shot her offer down. Mia sternly told you that you were to go home and nowhere else. After assuring her that you were going to be fine, you were out the door. By then, it was nearing 3am but you didn’t think much of it. It was when you were halfway down the street, having decided to cut through a nearby park to get home faster, that you started getting paranoid. You tried telling yourself that it was just you, you’d had too much to drink so your mind was just playing tricks on you. You huddled into your coat, sticking your cold hands into the pockets and speeding up your steps. It took everything in you to not look back, feeling a small chill run up your spine when you heard something akin to a twig snap a few feet behind you.

“Shit..” You whispered quietly, feeling your hands starting to shake. You glanced back, and there he was, you couldn’t see clearly thanks to the dark, but the person was walking behind you, glancing around and acting like he wasn’t following you like a creep. Your hands fumbled with your phone, bringing it out and squinting at the brightness of the screen when you unlocked it. But of course, as you were scrolling through your contacts your phone decided to shut down, having too little battery to survive for a few more minutes in the cold. You cursed quietly, trying not to panic as you shoved your phone back in your pocket and glancing around, having come out of the park and now walking down a deserted street. “Of course there’s no one else around, of course..” You murmured quietly to yourself, feeling fear creep up your back. But it was like universe heard your prayers, because there, a few feet away was a phone booth and you sped up your steps, shaky hands trying to get a hold of loose coins in your pockets. As soon as you were inside, you closed the door behind, almost crying in relief as you locked it. And with shaky hands you popped in a quarter that happened to be the only one you found and dialed in Mia’s number, trying to calm yourself down. Your eyes were subtly sweeping around, trying to locate the creep that was following you. And sure enough, he was standing not far from you, pretending to fiddle with something in his hands with his back leaning towards a brick wall. “Pick up, pick up, pick up..” You pleaded quietly, wiping your runny nose with one of your gloved hands. Okay, so alcohol made you emotional, so what? “Yeah?” That... was definitely not Mia’s voice. It was way to deep and manly for it to be hers. You were stunned, not knowing what to say. Had you dialed the wrong number? “U-um, hi?” You stuttered, feeling stupid all of a sudden. God, why did this have to happen now? “Who is this?” The voice sounded curious, and quite frankly, very confused. You glanced at the strange man outside, feeling panic rise up once again. “Hello?” “Hi, sorry.. I must have dialed the wrong number,” You rushed out to say, feeling your throat close up at the thought of you having to walk the rest of the way home alone. It was your last and only quarter, how the hell were you supposed to get rid of this creep? “Oh..” The guy paused when you sniffled, “Are you okay?” Yes, of course. Everything is fine. “No.” Is what came out of your mouth. “I was at my friend’s house and I’m walking home..” You paused. “This guy is following me and I can’t contact my friend to pick me up since I used my last quarter to call you and he’s standing outside waiting for me-” “Hey, hey.. It’s fine. Where are you now?” The voice cut your rambling off, laced with worry. He sounded very soothing and it calmed you more than you’d like to admit. How embarrassing. You scoffed, sniffling right after and you couldn’t help but smile. “Like I’d tell you.” The voice on the other line let out a laugh, and you hid a smile in your scarf, feeling kind of stupid for tearing up and complaining to a stranger on the phone while a potential stalker and rapist was standing not so far away. And judging by his body language it looked like he was running out of patience. This whole thing is so bizarre, you thought with wide eyes and a shake of your head. “Would it feel better if I told you my name?” The guy asked and you bit your lip, contemplating whether it was a good idea to give out your location to a stranger. But one glance out and you decided that you’d risk it, because you’d rather have someone walk you home than to be followed the rest of the way by a creep. “Yeah..” You breathed out, clenching your shaking hand, trying to calm your nerves. “Well, miss, it’s Grayson. And I’d hate it if something happened to you, knowing I could’ve prevented it from happening,” He said and you heard a bit of shuffling around before it stopped. “And you know, you’ve already woken me up from my sleep so you kind of owe it to me.” You couldn’t help but smile, momentarily forgetting where you were. You murmured out the street you were in and Grayson hummed, promising that he’d be there soon. “Please hurry.” You pleaded pathetically before hanging up. That’s when you realized how cold it actually was, and how the inside of the phone booth actually reeked. You wrinkled your nose, sniffling before bringing a gloved hand up to wipe at your nose. You eyed the stranger with nervousness, finding him staring right at you. What did he want? Why was this even happening? You were starting to get dizzy and you didn’t know whether it was the alcohol really getting to you or if it was the fear taking over. You held back terrified tears as you tried to busy yourself, picking at lint on your jacket. This whole thing was so stupid, you had actually called up a stranger and the said stranger had offered to walk you home, in the middle of the night. You didn’t know a damn thing about him, more than his name. He could be 50 years old for all you knew, ready to take advantage of a younger woman. No, no. Do not think like that. You rolled your eyes internally; like I wasn’t feeling panicked already. You looked around, hoping to see a glimpse of this Grayson guy, and sure enough you saw a silhouette walking your way. It was way too dark for you to see anything more than the cap he was wearing, hands in the pockets of his thin jacket, the hood of pulled up over his head. You glanced at the stranger, noticing him standing up a bit straighter from where he was leaning against the bricks, and a glimmer of hope jabbed at your heart. The man, who you presumed was Grayson, walked closer and as soon as the light reflected on him you swore you stopped breathing. This man was gorgeous. Slightly stubbly, chiseled jaw and bright puffy eyes. He looked tired but as soon as you locked eyes, relief washed over him. You reached out to unlock the booth, opening it with hesitation. Grayson was watching your every move, and when he saw your eyes flicker to the creep behind him, he turned and glared at the guy. “Hi babe,” Grayson said out loud in greeting, hesitant hands reaching for you and pulling you into a hug. God, he smelled so good. You pressed your face against his hard chest, feeling confused. “Just play along.” he whispered in your ear. You held back a shiver, nodding silently and pulling back. Grayson gave you a smile and put a hand on your back, leading you in the direction you pointed in. You walked in silence for a minute and one look back confirmed that the creep had disappeared. Relief washed over you and you sighed deeply, feeling tired and emotional all of a sudden. “Thank you,” you whispered quietly, shoving your shaking hands into your pockets as you walked beside the strange guy. You could feel his eyes on you, but you were too embarrassed to look up. “I don’t know what he would’ve done to me if you hadn’t..” Your voice died down, swallowing the lump that was forming in your throat and sniffled quietly. You laughed wetly at how bizarre this whole thing was, and chanced a glance at Grayson. He looked at you with soft eyes, smile tugging at his pink lips. “It’s fine, honestly. I would never leave you in that situation.” His eyes darkened. “I was so close to punching the guy in the throat.” You laughed, “Well I wouldn’t have stopped you. But thank you.” “No worries.” He murmured, shooting you a gentle smile. As you two walked side by side, you struck up a conversation. He talked about how he lived with his roommate and twin brother Ethan, and told me about his family and stories about his friends. Apparently Ethan was friends with Mia, which surprised you because you had known her for years and you and Grayson’s path had never crossed. You talked, he listened and apparently the wine hadn’t worn off because you were talking with enthusiasm, using your hands more than usual which you never did to people you didn’t know all too well. And you made Grayson laugh, a lot. It made you proud for some stupid reason because you had never heard such a melodic sound in your whole life before. He was absolutely beautiful and usually that would put you in a shy mode, but not this time. You stopped as you reached your building, and you realized that the sun was on its way up. In the faded light you could make out Grayson’s eyes and they were absolutely breathtaking. You couldn’t stop staring as you stood in front of each other, and it wasn’t until Grayson cleared his throat that you snapped out of it. You flushed. “So, this is my place.” You waved lamely with your hand in the direction of the building. “I should probably.. Head to bed.” Will you join me, please? You held back a scoff at the question that crossed your mind. Gray nodded, looking at you with those mesmerizing eyes. “Do you maybe want to grab a bite some time?” You felt your eyes widen a smudge at his unexpected question, feeling giddy that he had asked you. “Yeah, of course!” You nodded and fished out your phone, before realizing that it was still dead. You blushed, “Um, my phone isn’t charged.” Grayson snorted out a laugh, shooting you a cute smile, cheek dimpling. “Well, my phone is.” You laughed and grabbed his phone when he handed it to you, saving your number and typing out a name, smiling smugly at your wittiness. When Grayson got his phone back, he grinned as his eyes swept over the screen. “I’ll call you then,” he looked at you and you held your breath as he leaned towards you, “Damsel in distress.” You giggled breathlessly, flushing as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. He shot you a wink and began backing away, finally turning around and heading the way you both had came.

[mar-gega]

No Regrets (Part 2)

After what I can only describe as ridiculous amount of likes and comments I present you with Part 2. There’s more angst (you’re welcome) and a cheeky appearance from the Cap.

Summary: When the reader finally coughs up the courage to ask Bucky out it turns out he’s no that interested. Or is he?

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: Angst.

Part 1

You loved your job. It paid well, it was the right kind of challenging, you made an actual difference to the world and your co-workers were pretty cool. After all, how many people can say they work for the Avengers?

Granted, you were more of a 'behind the scenes' kind of person, you spend your days mostly in front of the computer screen, retrieving, decoding, and sifting through the intel gathered in the missions. You also provide maps, background checks on suspects, and encode all this data so it doesn't fall into any wrong hands. So yup, you can say you're one clever cookie.

Why wouldn't a guy want to date you? Fair enough, you're not one of those stunning beauties but you get your fair share of attention. Friends tell you you're funny and a catch, all this confirmed by the Avengers last night. So why on earth were you still single?

Then there's Natasha. Under the cool and collected public persona hides a surprisingly warm and approachable girl. She's usually the one querying any intel so she visits your office most often and it's no surprise you grew quite close. So close in fact that Natasha felt it a personal mission of hers to find you a suitable partner. You've been given phone numbers, set up on blind dates, been strategically placed in situation where you'd meet the chosen guy. But you were growing weary of the constant pursuit, it shouldn't have to be so hard to find a decent guy. People to it every day all over the world, how hard can it be?

You were done playing games, you decided that if you like the guy you will approach him and just be upfront and ask him out. Too bad that you chose Bucky as your first 'go'. He shot you down, making some sort of excuse about working together being an issue, but most importantly by doing so he brought your confidence to an all time low. More than that, he then dared to ask you out of pity, after hearing your confession during the party.

Coming to work this morning was not easy, the events from last night still replaying in your head, you felt so sorry for yourself. There were three of you in the office, everyone busied themselves with own work, the intel from last mission brought up some really important findings and Fury was keen on extracting as much value from it as possible. It meant you'd have to cross reference a lot of data, running between labs, stockrooms and offices. You were just finishing your list before setting off to the lab floor when the office door opened.

The way you saw it was like a scene from a movie. Emerging from the brightness of the hall light was a god-like figure, clad in a tight white t-shirt, man of an incredible shoulder to waist ratio, with face of an angel and a smile that instantly lights up a room. 'Y/N!' You froze at hearing your name, Captain America was walking towards your desk, scanning the room as if looking for someone else 'How are you feeling today? Did you get that sleep you wanted?' There's that smile again - little wrinkles around his gorgeous blue eyes, spreading to his cheeks, two rows of perfectly straight pearly whites encased in lusciously plump lips. 'Captain Rogers' you laughed nervously looking at your two colleagues. 'Now, no need for that, is it? I think after last night you can just carry on calling me Steve...' he winks and sits on the edge of your desk. 'Sure.. Steve!' You can't help a little blush spreading across your cheeks, without the aid of alcohol it's hard to stay calm around Mr Perfect, the power he has over you… - now how is THIS man single is the real question here! 'What are you up to?' He now leans closer to your computer screen then looks at you with questioning eyes. 'I was just about to go down to the lab floor to collect some results...' 'Perfect! Can I come with you? I'm happy to escort the precious cargo!' 'It's just some boring scene evidence results...' 'I didn't mean that cargo, I meant you-' he leans and whispers in your ear 'Precious...' an involuntary wave of goosebumps shoots trough your body and you find yourself fully blushing, in spite of the cheesy line... 'Okay...' you giggle nervously and stand up from your desk meaning you're now face to face with the super soldier, his eyes following your each move 'I could do with some company!' You grab your papers and walk towards the door. You're quickly overtaken by Steve who grabs the door handle to hold it open for you. You thank him and the two of you walk toward the lift, leaving the other two girls on your office completely baffled by this exchange.

Steve is a great conversationalist, he makes you laugh many times and stays with you thorough your walk through the lab floor and the lift ride back to your office. When you reach the door, again he holds it open for you and gifts you with another breathtaking smile to which you reciprocate. 'I've enjoyed this, we should spend more time together!' He surprises you with this proposition. 'I'd love that, Steve' you wink at him, internally impressed with your attempt at flirting. You part your ways and you pray to gods this is not some sort of sick joke they're playing on you. That Steve Sex on a Stick Rogers has just asked you out because he actually likes you.

Since then your day is going pretty well. Last night long forgotten, you're uplifted by the sudden interest from Captain America, you find yourself whistling on your way to Nick Fury's office, where he'd asked you to drop off some people profiles for his team briefing. When you reach his office the receptionist tells you Fury has just gone out but should be back in few minutes so you decide to sit in the waiting area. You'd prefer to make sure to give the files to him personally than risk a leak.

When you settle on the sofa you overhear a conversation in the meeting room, you can just about to make out what is being said. 'Why don't you ask her out? She's just your type!' 'Come on, Steve, she's not interested in me, I'm sure...' 'How do you know? Bless her, she could do with some cheering up, when I finally find out who the asshole that turned her down is I'm gonna knock some sense into him' it's become clear by now that it's Steve and Bucky and the subject of discussion is you. Was that pity you registered in Steve's tone? Is that what this whole charade was all about? Some sick attempt at making you feel better about yourself by taking pity on you and forcing Bucky to go on a date with you? The sudden realisation that maybe Steve's interest in your work was only so he can use this information for his own agenda? Maybe he just wants to feel like he's done a good deed by 'saving the poor girl'? Negative emotions are bubbling up and cloud you mind, you feel yourself slowly slipping into the self-hatred pit.

Oh god, why was this happening to you?!

'Oh give over, Steve, so the guy's an idiot for rejecting her but he must have had his reasons...' Bucky's voice is much quieter now. 'Well what reason can he possibly have to reject Y/N?' You hear a chair squeak from a body plopping on it. 'Well I'm not having her sulking over this, if you're not interested then I'm going to ask her out!' 'What?!' Bucky booms 'You've never been interested in Y/N before!' As much as you'd like to listen to this pity-fuelled exchange, you're relieved seeing Nick Fury walk through the lobby. 'Sir, you're profiles!' You hand him the papers and dash out of there before the man can even say thank you.

Lunch break is exactly what you need right now, you opt for going out of the tower in search of an escape from the gut-wrenching feeling of rejection and disappointment that today has brought upon you.

Okay, life, give me a break! You're loving this, aren't you?!

You can't help the thoughts flying through your head. You're sat nursing a massive cup of herbal tea (hoping it calms you down) and searching for a mistake you made that caused all this to happen. Because there has to be a reason for all this...

Why would you deserve all this? One time you actually decide to 'grab life by the horns', cough up courage to ask the man you've had a crush on out you are brutally brought back to reality – of course, he's not interested. Now everyone knows about it, more than that, Steve is pitying you so much he's willing to 'take one for the team' just so he can feel like he saved the day.

It's just your luck when you run into Natasha on your way back to the office. 'Y/N! Heard the Cap has been courting you! Check you out!' 'Yeah... No' you reply bluntly which causes Natasha to frown her brows in confusion. 'I've since found out that Steve has taken a pity on me and that's why he came up earlier... So, no, nobody's courting anyone' you glare at her as if daring her to question your logic. 'Come on, Y/N, he's just trying to help-' 'Oh really? What is this, a Y/N Pity Party?!' Your eyes begin to sting 'Look at poor Y/N, such a loser, can't even get a man to go out with her! Aw, she must be so sad being rejected and all, I best fake-ask her out so I can feel like I've saved her!' You leave Natasha with mouth agape and dart towards the toilet so you can sort yourself out. Just couple more hours before home time, then it's your two days off. Can't come soon enough!

You've actually ended up working late, making sure everything is in place and you leave a detailed handover. By the time you finish the tower is quiet, most of workers long gone. You wish it was like that every day, the fewer people around you the fewer the problems. You can't believe your bad luck when the lift door opens and Bucky is there on his way down. You reluctantly step in but apart from a nod you choose not to engage in any way. Last time you spoke to him you ended up crying in that very lift so it would be great to not having to do that again.

A couple of floors down Bucky decides to break the silence. 'It's not you, Y/N, it's me...' Really? REALLY?! 'Seriously, Bucky?! You're going with that?' 'Can we just-' his voice just above whisper. 'Can you just stop feeling sorry for me?! I'm not in the mood! I get it, you're not interested!'

Just this second the lift finally arrives at the ground floor and you sprint towards the main door leaving Bucky frozen in place. 'Start over? …' Bucky releases a loud sigh. Feisty and aware of her worth. God, Steve was right, she is EXACTLY his type!

Part 3 anyone?

PART 3

Tags:

@i-had-a-life-once @emilygr57 @vivianbabz @fab-notfat @vivalestwins @buckyb-avengers @mytasterpeculiar @38leticia @sebbys-girl @therealme13posts @50shadesofyes @isaxhorror @typical0001 @hurley3352 @blissful-fantasy @iluvyewman-blog @sebbytrash @smile-sugar